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ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
BOOKSTACKS 





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“YES, BENOW DI CLEASH,’ REPLIED NOPHAIE, “BUT SOME DAY THE 
SAVAGE AND THE CIVILIZED MAN IN ME WILL COME TO STRIFE 


THE 
VANISHING AMERICAN 


BY 


LANE GREY 


AUTHOR OF 
“RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE,” “WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND,” 
“TALES OF LONELY TRAILS,” ETC. 





HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON : . MCMXXV 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Copyright, 1925 
By Zane Grey 
Printed in the U.S.A. 





First Edition 
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Yes, Benow pi CLeasH,” Repirep Nopnaiz, “BUT 
Some Day THE SAVAGE AND THE CiviLizED Man 1n ME 
Pert COME TO OTRIFES 2 a. 


SHe Manacep To WALK AMONG THEM WITHOUT BETRAY- 


Seeivtien’ TRUE SENSATIONS) of ei ane 


A Loup Catt AWoKE THE Drowsy EcHOoEs OF THE SILENT 
ANYON. NopHAIE RAN To THE GATEWAY BETWEEN THE 


| Warts. He Saw Horses, Mures wiru Packs, aN 


PEA Ae ee a ala fo Valine false hyp ay hall helio eal May Nie | eh es hl wl dale 


Tue Storm Swept on, WREATHING THE Rims AND FIL1- 
ING THE Narrow Canyon BEHIND ......... 


LivOO%6 


Frontispiece 


Facing p. 48 


6s 


274 





THE 
VANISHING AMERICAN 


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THE VANISHING AMERICAN 
CHAPTER I 


T sunrise Nophaie drove his flock of sheep and goats 
out upon the sage slopes of the desert. The April air 

was cold and keen, fragrant with the dry tang of the up- 
lands. ‘addy and Tinny, his shepherd dogs, had wary eye 
and warning bark for the careless stragglers of the flock. 


Gray gaunt forms of wolf and tawny shape of wild cat 
_ moved like shadows through the sage. 


Nophaie faced the east, where, over a great rugged wall 
of stone, the sky grew from rose to gold, and a splendor of 


light seemed about to break upon the world. Nophaie’s 


instinct was to stand a moment, watching and waiting with- 
out thought. The door of each hogan of his people opened 


to the rising sun. ‘They worshiped the sun, the elements, 


all in nature. 

Motionless he stood, an Indian lad of seven years, slim 
and tall, with his dark face turned to the east, his dark 
eyes fixed solemnly upon that quarter whence the light and 
warmth always came. One thin brown hand held a blanket 


round his shoulders, and the other clasped his bow and 


arrows. 


While he gazed a wondrous change came over the desert. 


_ The upstanding gloomy wall of rock far to the fore suddenly 
_ burned with a line of flame; and from that height down 
upon the gray lowlands shone the light of the risen sun. 


, 


For Nophaie sunrise was a beginning—a fulfillment of 
promise—an answer to prayer. 
When that blazing circle of liquid gold had cleared the 


“rampart of the desert, too fiery and intense for the gaze 


I 


2 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


of man, Nophaie looked no more, and passed on down the 
aisles of sage behind his flock. Every day this task was his. 
For two years he had been the trusted shepherd of his 
father’s sheep. At five years of age Nophaie had won his 
first distinction. With other children he was out in charge 
of the accumulated flocks of the tribe. .A sandstorm sud- 
denly swooped down upon the desert, enveloping them in a 
thick yellow pall. Except Nophaie, all the little shepherds 
grew frightened and fled back to find their hogans. But 
Nophaie stayed with the sheep. They could not be driven 
in the face of the storm. “They wandered on and on and 
became lost. Nophaie became lost with them. ‘Three days 
later Nophaie’s father found him, hungry and fearful, but 
true to his charge. He was praised. He was taught. He 
was trusted. Legend and lore, seldom told so young a boy, 
were his to ponder and dream over. 

Nophaie’s shepherding task was lonely and leisurely. He 
had but to drive the flock from grassy flat to sage slope, 
slowly on and on, and back again by sunset to the home 
corral, always alert for the prowling beasts of prey. 

He seemed a part of that red and purple desert land. It 
was home. He had been born under the shadow of the 
wonderful mountain wall which zigzagged from east to 
west across the wasteland. ‘The niches were canyons. Its 
broken segments were pinnacles and monuments, shafts of 
red stone lifted to the skies, bold, stark, and mighty, chiseled 
by wind and sand and frost. Between these walls and monu- 
ments spread the sandy floor of desert, always gray-spotted 
with sage, always gray-green with patches of grass and 
weed, purple in the distance. 

‘That spring the lambs had come early—too early, con- 
sidering the frosty breath of the dawns. A few lambs had 
succumbed to the cold. Many a pink-and-white little lamb 
had been tenderly folded in Nophaie’s blanket, and warmed, 
and cared for until the heat of the sun made safe its return 
to its mother. “The lambs and kids were all several days old 
now, fleecy and woolly, grown sturdy enough to gambol in 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN . 


the sage. A few were solid black, and many were all white, 
and some had beautiful markings, spots of black on white, 
and four black feet, and two black ears. One was pure 
white with a black face; another was all black except for a 
white tail. The dead stillness of the desert dawn was often 
pierced by the sweet, high-pitched bleat of these lambs and 
kids. Nophaie wandered on with them, finding a stone seat 
from time to time, always watching, listening, feeling. He 
loved the flock, but did not know that. His task was lonely, 
but he did not realize it. 

The flock leisurely traveled on, a white-dotted moving 
mass against the background of gray, tearing at the sage, 
nipping the weeds. ‘Taddy and ‘Tinny trotted to and fro 
and around, important and morose, Indian dogs that knew 
their work, and they seldom had to bark a warning. 
Nophaie leisurely plodded along behind, intent and ab- 
sorbed. An eagle pitched from his lofty perch on one of the 
red towers, and shot like a thunderbolt down and over the 
flock, until he saw the Indian boy on guard, and then he 
swooped up and up, wide-winged and free, to soar away 
across the skies, a dark bowed shape against the blue. A 
coyote wailed his desolate note of hunger. From the cliff 
a canyon swift trilled his strange, sweet, wild song. 

The sun rose higher. ‘The golden belt of sunlight along 
the tops of walls and mesas and monuments widened down- 
ward, encroaching upon the shadow and shade. Dawn 
with its icy edge paled and melted before the warming day. 
And the desert changed again. Shadow and color and 
freshness seemed swallowed by an intense and all-absorbing 
light. 


Nophaie was no different from other Indian lads, except 
that the dominant traits of his tribe and his race seemed 
to be intensified in him. His was the heritage of a chief- 
tain. His mother had died at his birth, whispering strange 
and mystic prophecies. “The old medicine men, the sages of 
the tribe, had gathered round him during the one illness of 


4 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


his infancy, and had spread their sand-paintings on a flat 
rock, and had marveled at his quick recovery, predicting for 
him unknown and great feats. He was named Nophaie, 
the Warrior. 

Through song and story and dance the traditions of his 
tribe were forever impressed upon his sensitive mind. ‘The 
valor of Indian braves in war was a memory of the past, 
but the spirit lived. The boy was taught to understand 
the nature of a warrior, and to revere his father and the 
long line of chiefs from which he had descended. Before 
Nophaie could walk he had begun to learn the secrets of the 
life of the open. Birds, lizards, snakes, horned toads, scor- 
pions, pack-rats and kangaroo-rats, prairie-dogs and rabbits 
—these and all the little wild creatures of the desert were 
brought to him to tame, to play with, to study and learn to 
love. Thus the brilliant and intense color of desert life were 
early stamped upon his brain. ‘The love of natural beauty, 
born in him, had early opportunity for evolution. ‘The 
habits and ways of all desert creatures became a part of his 
childhood training. Likewise the green covering of the 
earth, in all its beauty and meaning, soon occupied its place 
of supreme importance in his understanding—the grasses, 
green in the spring, bearded and seeding in the late summer, 
bleached white in the fall; the sages with their bitter-sweet 
fragrance and everlasting gray; the cacti, venomous yet 
fruitful, with their colors of vermilion and magenta; the 
paint-brush with its carmine; the weeds of the desert, not 
without their use and worthiness; the flowers of the deep 
canyons; the mosses on the wet stones by the cliff-shaded 
brook; the ferns and lichens; the purple-berried cedars and 
the nut-bearing pinons of the uplands; and on the mountains 
the great brown-barked pines, stately and noble, lords of the 
heights. 

Next in order Nophaie learned the need and thrill and 
love of the hunt. By his own prowess as a hunter he must 
some day survive. The tracks and signs and sounds and 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 5 


smells of all denizens of his desert environment became as 
familiar to him as those of his hogan. 


Nophaie wandered on with his sheep, over the sage and 
sand, under the silent lofty towers of rock. He was uncon- 
sciously and unutterably happy because he was in perfect 
harmony with the reality and spirit of the nature that en- 
compassed him. He wandered in an enchanted land of 
mystery, upon which the Great Spirit looked with love. 
He had no cares, no needs, no selfishness. Only vaguely 
had he heard of the menace of the white race encroaching 
upon the lands of the Indian. Only a few white men 
had he ever seen. 

So Nophaie wandered on with his flock through the sage, 
content and absorbed, watching, listening, feeling, his mind 
full of dreams and longings, of song and legend, of the 
infinite beauty and poetry of his life. 

How lonely the vast sweep of purple sage-land that 
opened out from the red battlements of rock! How silent 
and dead the gleaming, beetling walls! How austere and 
solemn the day! But Nophaie was never lonely. He did 
not understand loneliness. ‘The soft, sweet air he breathed 
was rich with the whispers of spirits. Above the red wall 
to the west loomed up a black-and-white dome—a moun- 
tain height, pure with snow, fringed by pine—and this was 
Nothsis Ahn, the home of Utsay, the god of the Indians. 
He dwelt there wth Utsay Asthon, his woman, and together 
they had made the sun out of fire—they had made all. 
Utsay was the Great Spirit, and sometimes he communed 
with the medicine men through their sand-paintings. 
Nophaie that morning, as he turned from the sunrise to the 
looming mountain, had breathed a prayer to his Great Spirit. 


“High chief of the mountain, the beautiful mountain, 
To me tell your secrets that it may 

be well before me as I go, 
Behind me tell me it may be well, 


6 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Beneath me tell me it may be well, 
Above me tell me it may be well, 
Tell me let all that I see be well, 
Tell me that the Everlasting will 
be merciful toward me— 
Like the Chief of the Good, tell me 
that it is well with me. 

‘That the God of the medicine will 
let me talk well, tell me 
Now all is well, now all is well, 
Now all is well, now all is well.” 


And Nophaie believed all was well with him, that his 
prayer had been answered. ‘The rustling of the sage was 
a voice; the cool touch of the breeze on his cheek was a kiss 
of an invisible and kindly spirit, watching over him; the 
rock he leaned a hand upon left a clinging response, from 
the soul therein. When a hawk sailed low over Nophaie’s 
head he heard the swish of wings driven by the power he 
trusted in. The all-enveloping sunlight was the smile of 
Utsay, satisfied with his people. Nophaie stepped aside to 
avoid crushing the desert primroses, thriving in the shade 
of the sage. Through those wide white blossoms looked the 
eyes of the departed relatives, who watched him from the 
Happy Hunting Grounds below. Would he walk straight? 
Would he talk straight? ‘Their love lived on and was 
eternal. There was no death of spirit for Nophaie and 
his kind. ‘There was no evil except what he thought, and 
to think evil of himself, of anyone, was a sin. ‘To think evil 
made it true. 

So Nophaie wandered on and on over the sage trails, 
proud and fierce as a young eagle, aloof and strange, dream- 
ing the dreams conjured up by the wise men of his tribe. 
At seven years of age he had begun to realize the meaning 
of a chief, and that a chief must some day save his people. 
What he loved most was to be alone, out in the desert, 
listening to the real sounds of the open and to the silent 
whisperings of his soul. In the shadow of the hogans, among 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN a 


the boys and girls there, he was only Nophaie. ‘They were 
jealous. ‘They resented his importance. But out on the 
desert, in the cold, rosy dawns and the solemn, hot noon- 
tides and the golden sunsets, when the twilight stole down 
softly and white stars smiled at him from the velvet blue— 
then Nophaie could be himself, could listen and feel, and 
know how the four winds of heaven whispered of his future, 
of how he would make the medicine to save his people. 

Nophaie did not walk alone. Innumerable spirits kept 
pace with his light steps. The sage was a carpet of purple, 
fragrant and sweet, through which breathed the low soft 
sigh of the wind. ‘The shallow streams of water, murmur- 
ing and meandering in the red sandy wash below, lined 
white along its margins, spoke to Nophaie of winter snows 
now melting on the heights, of water for the sheep all 
summer, of Utsay’s good will. To east and west and 
south heaved up the red gods of rock that seemed to move 
with Nophaie as he moved, shadow and loom over him as he 
halted, watch him with vast impassive faces. “Though they 
were far away they seemed close. In their secret stony 
cells abided the souls of Indians—many as the white pebbles 
along the stream. ‘The flash of a swift-winged canyon bird 
was a message. “The gleams of melted frost, sparkling and 
pure, were the teardrops of his mother, who forever hovered 
near him, wandered with him along the sage trails, in spirit 
with his steps. The sun, the moon, the crag with its human 
face, the black raven croaking his dismal note, the basking 
rattlesnake, the spider that shut his little door above him, 
the mocking-bird, singer of all songs—these held com- 
munion with Nophaie, were his messengers. And all around 
him and above him, in the great silence, in the towering 
barriers of stone, in the vast flare of intense sunlight, there 
seemed to be life in harmony with him, a voiceless and 
eternal life that he felt but could not see. 

Towards sunset Nophaie was far out on the open desert, 
with many of the monuments and mesas and masses of 
rim-rock between him and the golden purple glory of the 


8 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


west. Homeward bound with his flock, Nophaie had intent 
eyes for the colorful panorama of sinking sun and trans- 
figured clouds. A pageant somehow in affinity with his 
visions crowned the dome of old Nothsis Ahn and shone 
down behind the great shafts and pillars of rock that 
speared the horizon light. ‘The sun was going down behind 
broken masses of soft clouds, creamy and silver where the 
rays struck, golden in the center of the west, and shading 
to purple where the thick, mushrooming, billowy rolls 
reached to the blue zenith. 

While Nophaie gazed in the rapture of his wandering, 
eager heart there came a moment of marvelous transforma- 
tion. ‘The sun dipped its lower segment from under a 
white-rimmed cloud, firing the whole magnificent panorama 
with blaze of gold and rose and opal. A light that seemed 
beacon of the universe burned across the heavens, clear to 
the east, where the violet and lilac haze took on a sheen 
of gold. Against the effulgence of the western sky stood up 
the monuments, silhouetted on that burnished brightness of 
sunset, black and clear-cut, weird and colossal, motionless 
and speaking gods of stone. 

A warning bark from one of the shepherd dogs drew 
Nophaie’s attention from the sunset. A band of white men 
had ridden down upon him. Several of them galloped 
ahead and came round between the Indian lad and his home. 
The others rode up. ‘They had extra horses, wild and 
dusty and caked with froth, and pack mules heavily loaded. 
Both men and beasts were jaded. 

Nophaie had seen but few white men. None had ever 
tendered violence. But here he instinctively recognized 
danger. 

“We gotta hev meat,’ one dark-visaged man called out. 

“Wal, we'd better find the squaw who owns this bunch 
an’ buy our meat,” suggested another. 

“Moze, you know it all,” growled another. “Why 
squaw ?” 

“Because squaws always own the sheep,” replied the other. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 9 


These men of the desert were tired and hungry, perhaps 
not honestly so, judging from the extra saddle horses they 
were driving. More than one furtive glance roved across the 
sage to the east. Sullen heat and impatience manifested their 
signs in the red faces. 

“We hevn’t time for thet,’”’ spoke up the dark-faced one. 

“Wal, we don’t want Indians trailin’ us. I say take time 
an’ buy meat.” 

“Aw, you'll say next let’s eat hoss meat,” returned the 
man called Moze. “Knock the kid on the head, grab some 
sheep, an’ ride on. ‘Thet’s me!” 

Moze’s idea seemed to find favor with some of the band. 
‘The dominating spirit was to hurry on. 

Nophaie could not understand their language, but he 
sensed peril to himself. Suddenly he darted out between 
the horses and, swift as a deer, flashed away through the 
sage. 

“Ketch that kid, somebody,” called out the voice of 
authority. 

One of the riders touched spurs to his horse and, running 
Nophaie down, reached a strong hand to haul him across 
in front of the saddle. Nophaie hung there limp. 

“Bill,” called the leader, “thar ain’t no sense in hurtin’ 
the kid. Now you-all wait.” 

This man was tall, gaunt, gray-haired, and lean, with the 
eyes of a hawk. He scanned the sage flats clear to the pil- 
lars of stone. Neither Indian or hogan was in sight. 
Presently he spoke. “Bill, hang on to the kid. An’ some of 
you drive the sheep ahead of us. “Thar’s water over hyar 
somewheres. We'll find it an’ make camp.” 

“Huh!” ejaculated the man Bill, in disgust. “Talkin’ 
about sense, what’s the idee, cap, packin’ this heavy kid 
along?” 

“Wal, it ain’t decent to kill him, jest fer nothin’, an’ it 
is sense to keep him from gettin’ back home to-night.” 

“All right, you’re the boss. But I’ll eat sage if them 
Indians don’t track us, jest the same.” 


IO THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Bill, you’re a bright fellar,” retorted the other. “Mebbe 
this kid’s family will find our tracks by to-morrow, but I’m 
gamblin’ they won’t.” 

Nophaie hung limp over that horse for several miles before 
he was tumbled off like an empty sack. The band had come 
to a halt for the night. Nophaie’s hands and feet were 
bound with a lasso. He heard the bleating of the sheep, 
and then the trampling low roar of their hoofs as they were 
driven off into the desert. One of the men gave him food 
and drink; another covered him with a blanket. Nophaie’s 
fear eased, but there was birth of a dark heritage of hate 
in his heart. He did not sleep. 

At daylight the band was off, riding hard to the south- 
ward, and Nophaie had no choice but to go with them. 
Toward nightfall of that long day the spirits of the men 
appeared to rise. “They ceased to look back over the rolling 
ridges of purple sage, or down the leagues of cedar aisles. 
They avoided the Indian hogans and sheered off well-trod- 
den trails. Next day some of the band were in favor of 
letting Nophaie go free. But again the leader ruled against 
them. 

“Reckon it’s tolerable lonely along hyar. We don’t want 
the kid to be lost an’ starve.” 


About noontime one day later they let Nophaie go free, 
and pointed down a road toward an Indian encampment. 
Then in a cloud of dust they trotted on. Rough but kind 
they had used him, unconscious of their hand in his destiny. 
But Nophaie never reached the Indian hogans. Another 
party of white people, of different look and voice, happened 
upon him. ‘They were travelers of leisure, seeing the West, 
riding across the reservation. “They had wagons and saddle 
horses, and Western men to care for them. Again Nophaie 
ran, only to be caught by one of the riders and hauled before 
the women of the party. 

“What a handsome Indian lad!” exclaimed one. 

“Let us take him along,” said another. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 11 


An older woman of the group, with something more 
than curiosity in her face, studied Nophaie for a moment. 
She, too, was kind. She imagined she was about to do a 
noble thing. 

“Indian boy, I will take you and put you in a school.” 

They took Nophaie with them by force. They took him 
out of the desert and far to the east. 

And Nophaie lived and studied in the white man’s school 
and college for eighteen years. 


CHAPTER II 


S the train neared the Western town which was her 

destination Marian Warner realized that this ride was 

not a dream, but the first act of the freedom she had yearned 

for, the first step in her one great adventure. All the ex- 

citement and audacity and emotion that had been her undo- 
ing now seemed to swell into a thrilling panic. _ 

Long days of travel had passed since she had boarded 
the train at Philadelphia. The faces of friends, of her aunt 
—the few who loved her—had grown dim, as if every revo- 
lution of the wheels had deadened memory as well as length- 
ened miles. Little had she guessed how she had cut herself 
adrift. But to the last she had kept her secret. 

Somewhere back along the way, where she had crossed 
the line into this desert state, she had become conscious of 
a quickening of her long apathetic feelings. Had her first 
glimpses of the bleached gray of the desert stirred her heart? 
What of that strange line of red and yellow cliffs—bold 
rock fronts almost incredible to her? Deep and vague was 
the emotion they roused. It was April, and the clouds were 
gray, the weeds tumbling over the land before the wind, the 
dust puffs whipping up and circling into yellow columns. 
Bold and raw and inhospitable indeed this desert land! Its 
bigness began to amaze and frighten her. Miles and miles 
of barrenness—rocks—flats of gray—black mountains in the 
distance—and again those strange facades of red cliff! Few 
and far between were the ranches. And the occasional 
herd of cattle appeared lost in immensity. Marian strained 
her tired eyes searching for horses and riders, for the flashes 
of red blankets of Indians, but these were denied her. 

Then, as many times during this long ride, she had 
recourse to the letter that had influenced her to come west. 

12 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 13 


Oxjyato (Moonlight on the Water), 
Feb. 10, 1916. 
Dear Marian: 

Your letters and gifts were welcome as May flowers. I 
_ did not get them at Christmas time because I did not ride into 
| Kaidab. The weather then was cold and I had my only living 
_ relative to look after. He was ill. He is better now. 

I rode the ninety-odd miles to the post between sunrise and 
sunset, over a trail known only to Indians. And all the way 
I thought of you, of the love for you that only strengthens 
with distance and time. Remembering your fondness for 
horses and how you used to long for wild and lonely places, 
I wanted you to be with me. 

But in spite of the joy that came with your remembrances, 
my ride back from the post was full of bitterness. I was 
again brought into contact with the growing troubles of my 
tribe, and with the world of white men which I have given up. 

Marian, my people now are very prosperous. The war has 
brought false values. Wool is fifty cents a pound. Horses 
and sheep bring higher prices than any Indians ever dreamed 
of. They think this will last always. They will not save. 
They live from day to day, and spend their money foolishly. 
And when the reaction comes they will be suddenly poor, 
with the trader’s prices for food and clothing higher than ever. 

I have been here nearly a year now, and have yet to find one 
single Indian who is really a Christian. I have gone all over 
this part of the reservation. ‘The Indians tell me there have 
been many good missionaries among those sent out here. White 
men who were kind, who studied the Indians’ need, who helped 
them with their hands, who might in time have won their 
confidence. But for some reason or other they never remained 
long enough. 

And we greatly need help. Come out to the reservation 
and work for a year or two among my people. It could not 
hurt you. And you might do much for them. You could be a 
teacher at Mesa or one of the other schools. None would 
ever know that you came for my sake. 

Your letters heaped upon me terms of reproach. Marian, 
I have not forgotten one moment of our summer at Cape 
May. I live over every meeting with you. I love you more 


| 





ve 


14 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


than I did then. It seems I am old now. Wisdom came to 
me here in my desert home, under the shadow of old Nothsis 
Ahn. I was born under this great mountain. When a boy I 
was stolen from my home under its red walls. And after 
eighteen years I have come back. I burned my white man’s 
clothes and books—even the records of my football games— 
all except your picture. I put on buckskin and corduroy and 
silver. I seldom speak English and I am again an Indian. 
No more Lo Blandy, but Nophaie! 

I was young and full of fire that summer at Cape May. 
I drank the white man’s liquor, Marian. I was praised, féted, 
sought because I had become a famous athlete—the football 
and baseball player, winner of so many points against the great 
colleges. I danced and played the same as white college men. 

Then I met you, Marian. You were different from most 
of the white girls. I loved you at sight and respected you when 
I knew you. I stopped drinking for you. And for an Indian 
to give up whisky, once he knows its taste, is no small thing. | 
I loved a white girl. I called you Benow di cleash, the white 
girl with blue eyes. And I’m sure your influence kept me from 
the fate of more than one famous Indian athlete—Sockalexis, 
for instance, who ruined career and health in one short year. 

But when I returned to my people the great change came. 
Not in my love for you, but in my youth. I am a man now, 
old as these sage hills, and I’ve learned from them. It was 
selfish and wrong for me to run after you, to love you, to take 
your kisses—wrong though it was, the best influence of my 
life. I am an Indian. 

Then, once here, whatever wild dreams I may have had 
were forgotten. I see the life of my tribe as a tragedy. The 
injustice to them is the blackest of white men’s baseness. The 
compulsory school system for the Indian boys and girls has 
many bad points. ‘The bad missionary is the apostle of hate 
and corruption. His ways are not the ways of the good mis- 
sionary. I am an educated Indian—a chief in my tribe. I see 
their misery. I see them vanishing. I cannot marry an Indian 
girl, because I love you. I cannot have a child, because I love 
you. I cannot know any woman because I love you. When an 
Indian loves he loves forever. It is infinitely easier for an 
Indian to love a white woman than for her to love him. I 
don’t know why. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN LS 


So Marian, I am here, no longer Lo Blandy, but Nophaie. 
My name means Warrior. ‘The red sand I tread is part the 
bones and flesh of my ancestors. I will live my life here and 
mingle my bones with theirs. I will do all I can for them. 
But alas! the eighteen years’ education forced upon me by the 
whites enables me only to see the pitiful state and the doom of 
the Indians. 

Come, Marian, to Oljato—come to help me awhile or just 
to see the wildness and beauty of my home, so that always 
afterward your memory will be full of the color and music and 
grandeur and fragrance of the Indian land. 

NopHAIE. 


Marian put the letter away, conscious only at that mo- 
ment of her emotions. Every perusal of it seemed to glean 
new sensations of pain, regret, sweetness and love, and awe. 

“Nophaie, the Warrior,’ she soliloquized, dreamily. 
“Somehow it suits him.” 

She recalled the first time she had ever seen him. It 
was at Cape May, where a group of college men maintained 
baseball games with visiting teams, professional and other- 
wise. Her aunt, with whom she lived, and most of her 
Philadelphia friends, always spent some weeks at the sea- 
shore. And Marian enjoyed games and bathing and dancing 
as well as anyone. One summer afternoon a friend took her 
to the athletic field and pointed out the famous Indian star. 
How curious she had felt! There was a strange pain in the 
recall of that first sensation. Her eyes fell upon a tall 
bareheaded athlete, slenderly yet powerfully built, his supple 
form broadening wide at the shoulders. His face was dark, 
his hair black as coal. Striking and handsome as he was, it 
was not his appearance alone that thrilled her so. She was a 
thoroughly modern young woman and had seen her share of 
college games. In action the Indian was simply beautiful. 
He had earned his great fame as a football star, and had 
been picked by experts for the All American team three 
successive years. But he did not need to be so great a base- 
ball player to be good to look at. He played an outfield 


16 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


position, and the chances of the game fell so that he had 
little to do except run. And his running grew more and 
more thrilling to Marian. How easily he moved—what a 
stride he had! Marian found she was not alone in her 
admiration. ‘This Indian athlete did not need her applause. 
Toward the end of the game, at a critical time for the home 
team, he hit a ball far beyond the reach of the opposing field- 
ers. The crowd roared its delight. ‘The Indian dashed 
down toward first base, and, turning, appeared to gather 
speed as he ran. Marian felt the pound of her heart, 
the sudden shock of delight and pride in the Indian’s sheer 
physical prowess. He ran as the Greek runners must have 
run, garlanded for their victories. How fleet! How in- 
credibly faster and faster! “Then he was making the turn 
for home base, and the crowd was yelling wildly. He 
seemed to be facing Marian as he sped on, magnificent in his 
action. He beat the throw and scored his home run, a feat 
the audience applauded with prodigious abandon. Marian 
then became aware that she too had been rather undignified. 

That night at a dance one of Marian’s friends had asked 
her. 

“Have you met Lo?” 

“Lo! and who’s he or she?” queried Marian. 

“He’s the Indian crack. You saw him play to-day. 
Lo Blandy.”’ 

And so it came about presently that Marian found her- 
self facing the Indian athlete she had admired. Not just 
then had she realized it, but the truth was she had fallen in 
love with him at first sight. Something in her nature, never 
dreamed of before, went out to the Indian. He had a fine 
face, dark and strong, with eyes of piercing blackness. There 
was something noble in his stature, or the poise of his head, 
or the eagle look of him. 

“Will you dance with me?” he had asked, and appeared 
as much at his ease as any of the college men. 

Marian found herself dancing with an Indian—a very 
strange and momentous circumstance, it seemed. Evidently 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 17 


he had not made dancing one of his college courses, as 
most young men made. But he was light and strong; he 
carried her on without the bold contact so prevalent among 
most dancing men; and so Marian enjoyed that dance. 

‘They met again by accident on the beach, and because no 
one else came and they were interesting to each other, they 
talked for long. After that day Marian went to all the 
baseball games. And Lo Blandy became one of her numer- 
ous admirers, to the amusement of her aunt and friends. 

But these meetings had been deadly earnest for Marian. 
She loved the Indian. She fought against herself—then 
surrendered and fought no more. He had more principle 
and better habits than any white boy she knew. So that 
summer, in the cool amber-lighted mornings by the seashore 
and on the moonlit nights when dance and music held their 
sway, Marian quaffed the spiced magic draught of love. 

She wandered if she had as true and steadfast a nature 
as the Indian? Would she love once and once only? Vain 
queries. She loved now and that was all of pain. 

Marian gazed out of the train window at the scenery 
flashing by. ‘The topography of the country had changed. 
Dark bushy green trees, very beautiful, had appeared on the 
slowly rising desert land, and the spaces between them were 
white with bleached grass. No more cliffs of stone passed 
under her sight. “There were wooded hills in the back- 
ground. And presently these low green trees gave place to 
larger ones, growing wide apart, brown-trunked, with spread- 
ing branches and thin green foliage at the tops. Pines! 
She welcomed them. She greeted every little gain of pleas- 
ure or knowledge, somehow trying to persuade herself that 
there was to be education and broadening of sympathy in 
this wild trip to the West. Marian had not been ashamed 
of her love for Lo Blandy. She felt that she might reach 
a point where she would glory in it. But she had shrunk 
from making confidants of her aunt and her friends. No 
one guessed the truth of that summer at Cape May. And 
now she was on a train, far out in the West, soon to take 


18 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


whatever means offered to reach the Indian reservation. 
The farther she traveled the more untrue her situation 
seemed. Yet she was glad. A deep within her stirred to 
strange promptings. She strove to justify her action in her 
own eyes. Surely one flight of freedom need not be denied 
her. The laxity of Marian’s social set in no wise gave her 
excuse for wildness and daring. She hated the drinking and 
smoking of women, the unrestrained dances, the lack of 
courtesy, the undeniable let-down of morals. She had wel- 
comed an opportunity to escape from that atmosphere. Out- 
side of love for Lo Blandy or an earnest desire to help his 
people there had been a trenchant call to some subtle innate 
wildness in her. ‘The prairie, the mountain, the sea, the 
desert all called to her with imperious voice. Some day 
she would surely have listened. 

“TI have no close family ties,’ she said to herself, in sin- 
cere defense. “I am twenty-three. I am my own master. 
I’ve always dreamed of love with honor—of marriage with 
children. Perhaps in vain! My aunt, my friends, would 
call me mad. ‘They do not understand me. I am not 
throwing my life away. I can do good out here. I can 
help him. . . . Nophaie—what a strange, beautiful name! 
... 1 am not rich. But I have some money, and that I 
will gladly use now. Let the future take care of itself.” 

So she settled the matter of perplexity and of conscience, 
and gave up to the singular appeal of the prospect before her. 
Always Marian had yearned to do something different, 
unusual, big. She had traveled a little, taught school, tried 
journalistic work, and had one short weakness for dramatics. 
And she knew she had accomplished nothing. Here indeed 
was the bright face of adventure, mysterious and alluring, 
coupled with a work she might make uplifting and all- 
satisfying. 


Flagerstown, the first Western town Marian had ever 
been in, was not at all like what she had imagined it would 
be. Her impressions of the West had come from books and 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 19 


motion pictures, which mediums, she was to learn, did not 
always ring true to life. 

It was a thriving little city, bustling with motorcars and 
active over its lumber, railroad, and cattle interests. It bore 
no signs of the typical frontier town. What surprised 
Marian a little was the fact that neither hotel proprietor 
nor banker, post-office official nor clerk in the store, nor a 
cattleman she chanced to address showed any curiosity con- 
cerning her. When she made inquiry about the Indian reser- 
vation she simply stated that she was interested in Indians 
and might do some journalistic work out there. Marian 
was compelled to confess that these Western men did not 
seem to be impressed with her. They were courteous and 
kindly, yet somehow aloof. It was a novelty to her. In 
the East she had been endlessly confronted with the fact 
of her femininity and youth and attractiveness. Here she 
seemed to catch a breath of life not thick and heavy with the 
atmosphere of sex. “The West was young, virile, open. 
Already she began to feel free of fetters that had weighed 
upon her. Back home the ideals of most people were the 
pursuit of wealth, pleasure, excitement. The cities were 
congested. Young people left the wholesome countryside to 
flock to the centers of population, there to mix and strive in 
crowded places. Marian felt the futility and falseness of 
such life—that the threshold of decadence had been crossed. 

She ascertained that a mail carrier left Flagerstown twice 
a week for the places on the reservation—Mesa, Red Sandy, 
and Kaidab. And the post-office man was kind enough to 
engage passage for her. Next morning the hotel porter 
called to take her baggage. Marian saw the most dilapidated 
Ford car that had ever come before her vision. What there 
was of it appeared to be wired and roped together. And it 
was loaded heavily with mail bags, boxes, and sacks. There 
was a coop containing some chickens going by parcel post. 
Next to the driver’s seat had been left a small space, evidently 
for Marian. 

“Goodness!” ejaculated Marian, as she surveyed this 


20 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


doubtful contraption. ‘Will it hold together? Is it safe to 
ride in?” 

“Why miss, sho thet Injun will get you thar,” replied the 
porter. 

“Indian! Is the driver an—Indian?” 

“Yes-sum. An’ sho blowin’ snow er sand makes no 
difference to him.” 

Marian could have laughed, in spite of her uneasiness. 
But all she could do was to gaze helplessly at that machine. 
Then appeared a young man in ragged dark suit. His small 
feet were incased in brown buckskin moccasins with silver 
buttons. His dark face appeared to be half hidden by a 
black sombrero. She could see that he was young. She 
noted his hands as they slipped over the wheel—dark, thin, 
nervous, sinewy hands, well formed and mobile. ‘Then he 
got into the driver’s seat and looked up at her. He was only 
a youth. His face was keen, smooth as silk, without a line, 
dark as bronze. He had a level brow and eyes black as 
night. Suddenly they gleamed with intelligence and humor. 
This Indian sensed her consternation. 

“You ready go?” he queried, in intelligible English. The 
tone of it gave Marian a little shock. Something about it, 
the low pitch or timbre, recalled the voice of Lo Blandy. 

“Y-yes, I guess so,” faltered Marian. Dare she trust 
this frightful junk heap of a car and its Indian driver on a 
long desert journey? Marian’s Eastern compunctions did 
not die easily. 

“You go Kaidab?” asked the driver. 

“Yes,” replied Marian. 

“IT get you there—five o’clock,” he returned, with a smile. 
It seemed a flash of understanding. He read her mind, 
and wished to reassure her. Marian’s new spirit revived 
with a rush. She had burned her bridges behind her. 

“Will it be cold?” she asked, as she was about to climb 
into the car. 

“You need blanket for while,” he said. 

Marian had no blanket, but she had brought a heavy 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN a 


coat which would serve as well. ‘This she put on. ‘Then 
she squeezed into the small space beside the driver. The 
grinning porter called, “Good night!’ which dubious fare- 
well in no wise diminished Marian’s concern. 

The Indian driver moved something that made the rickety 
car crack like a pistol and lurch forward. Marian could 
not stifle a gasp. “The square-fronted buildings with their 
‘queer high board signs began to speed back out of her sight. 
Ahead the white asphalt road merged into one of dark earth, 
and there appeared a long slope of pine trees. Cold, keen, 
biting wind fanned Marian’s cheeks. It nipped with its 
frosty breath. And it brought a strange dry fragrance. 
The car passed the line of buildings, and to the left loomed 
a mighty green-and-white mountain mass that hid its sum- 
mit in gloomy rolling clouds. 

“Storm,” said the Indian. ‘We hurry so get way from 
snow.” 

If anything more were needed to complete Marian’s 
demoralization, she had it in the gathering speed of that car. 
It belied its appearance. 

“Oh! if they could see me now!” she murmured, as she 
snuggled down into the warm coat and peeped out at the 
wonderful green slope of forest. She thought of those at 
home who would have looked aghast at her boldness. Per- 
haps this was the moment of severance. Whatever it was, 
above all Marian’s misgivings and defiance there pealed a 
subtle voice of joy. 


CHAPTER III 


HE road upon which the Indian was driving led out 
into a pine forest, between the stately trees of which 
she caught glimpses of cloud-enshrouded mountains, 

The cold, the raw wind, the increasing gloominess of the 
day, with its ominous threat of storm, in no wise checked 
Marian’s momentary enthusiasm and awakening joy for the 
open country. She must see all, feel all, experience all with 
every sense acute. For as long as she could remember she 
had been cooped up in a town. And in her heart love of 
nature had been stultified. At last! She breathed deeply 
of the keen air. And the strong pitchy smell of pine began 
to stimulate her. 

“What mountains?” she asked. 

“Spanish Peaks,” replied the driver. 

She asked him other questions, to which he gave brief 
and unsatisfactory reply. Perhaps it took all his attention to 
keep the car in the road. Besides, it made such a rattle and 
clank that conversation was really not easy. Marian ceased 
asking questions. 

The road led through a forest of pines such as Marian 
had never seen, wonderfully fragrant and exhilarating after 
the cities and railroads. ‘The grass was dead, bleached 
white, but the green of the pines gave relief to her eyes. 
Ten miles of forest the car traversed, then an open valley, 
fine ranch country Marian judged, from which view of the 
mountain range was magnificent, and then it entered forest 
again, with the difference that the ground appeared to be 
all cinders. ‘The car chugged uphill, losing much of its 
velocity. 

From a ridge top Marian’s eyes were greeted by a strange 

22 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN a 


and desolate spectacle—a wide black valley, a slope of black 
cinders, and a stream of red lava crusted and jagged, and 
beyond these foothills of black cinders smooth and steep, 
all waved and ridged like sand dunes carved by wind. A 
line of pines crested the first hill, and under this green 
stretch was a long bank of snow, its pure white contrasting 
markedly with the ebony cinders. A range of these foot- 
hills rose off toward the south, growing higher and smoother, 
weird and sinister monuments to the havoc of volcanic action 
in the ages past. Beyond and above this range towered a 
mountain of cinders, strangely barren, marvelously colored in 
purple, black and red. 

Marian saw so much in this scored and devastated region 
that she regretted passing on so rapidly. Soon her Indian 
guide reached a downgrade in the forest, ran out of the 
cinder zone upon hard road again, and here Marian feared 
every flying mile would be her last. 

By and by the pines began to decrease in size and grow 
farther apart, so that glimpses of open country came to 
Marian. ‘Then from round a rocky ridge quite abruptly 
the car sped out into thin forest from which stretched a 
vast waste of gray. [he desert! Marian did not try to 
repress an exclamation of delight and awe. 

She was looking down over many leagues of desert. “The 
pines failed, the cedars began, and beyond them rolled and 
waved away the white billowy miles of wasteland. Only 
two colors prevailed—black and white. How soft and 
velvety! Only the west appeared barred from limitless 
gaze; and there a succession of rounded hills, bare except 
for grass, led away down into the desert. “These and the 
cedars and the winding road lured Marian’s sight to the 
farthest reaches, to what seemed a dim and mounting suc- 
cession of colossal steps, vaguely colorful, unattainable and 
incredible. Where did horizon line separate that purple 
remote land from the sky? But the sky was obscured, and 
horizon-wide clouds of dull leaden hue and trailing veils of 
storm filled the vastness above. ‘The desert sloped away 


24 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


league after league and rolled upward majestically doubling 
leagues, all open to the eye. 

Marian feasted her eyes, trying to grasp what it was 
that she saw. Moments and miles passed, and suddenly a 
gray squall of rain and snow swooped down from behind, 
enveloping the car. It brought a piercing cold. What rain 
there was soon changed to sleet. It pelted Marian, many 
hailstones bouncing off the glass wind-shield to sting her 
face. Gloves and pockets appeared little protection against 
such cold. Marian suffered. Her cheeks, her nose, her 
ears seemed to congeal to ice. The world around that car 
was white, swept by a blizzard, with snow fleeting across the 
ground. ‘The sky was obscured. When Marian opened 
her eyes, at intervals, she could not see far in front of the 
car. ‘This obscurity did not deter the Indian from driving 
fast. So that between her pangs and fears Marian had to 
make heroic enjoyment out of this hour. 

At length the gray cloud lightened, the snow thinned out, 
and the blue of sky shone through a thin haze of white. 
That too faded or melted away, and then the storm veered, 
leaving clear a great open space above. Marian grew aware 
that she was now far down in the desert, with open bare 
ridges all around her and the distant prospects out of view. 
The snow failed. The earth changed its white-and-black 
hue to a dull red. Once again the car sped out upon a 
height from which Marian had a second look at the leagues 
of desert. Here the immense reach and slope struck her 
more forcibly, and especially the great volume of light. 

The sun came out from behind the cloud bank over the 
east, and the desert magnified lines and colors, and suddenly 
unmasked an appalling beauty. 

Once the Indian stopped the car, to examine some of its 
mechanism. “Thus Marian was enabled to get out, to 
stretch her cramped, cold limbs. After that, when the 
journey had been resumed, she soon grew comfortable under 
a warming sun, and at length forgot both pangs and fears 
in absorption of this desert land. Her driver traveled 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 25 


downhill for no less than three hours. This brought them 
to what seemed an incongruity—an iron bridge spanning a 
rock-walled gorge, through which ran a muddy stream. 
Here in this valley the sun was hot. Marian had to remove 
the heavy coat. 

Beyond the river stretched a gravelly plain, hard packed 
by wind, and its slow ascent at last gained another height, 
from which Marian confirmed her wondering expectations. 
Three level benches of colored desert, as high as mountains, 
lifted their wondrous reds and purples and grays and golds 
toward the blue sky. It was a land of painted steps. It was 
beyond her power to grasp. She could but revel in a mosaic 
of color and a strange expanse of earth and rock. ‘This was 
but the portal of Lo Blandy’s country. What then would 
Oljato be like? Marian felt confounded in her own im- 
pressions. Once she glanced behind her, as if to make sure 
of distance she had traversed, of land she knew to be solid 
and not a substance of dreams. ‘The spectacle to the rear 
was vastly different, a gray desert slope, a red desert slope, 
league on league, shelving back to rise and lift to a great 
dark plateau from which the Spanish Peaks showed white 
pure snow against the sky. 

The ensuing hour, during which the Indian driver crossed 
the bare plains of sand and gravel and climbed the suc- 
cessive steps of colored rock, passed by all too quickly for 
Marian. ‘The sun beat down hot. ‘To the north, in the 
direction the car was heading, more storm clouds were 
gathering. Above the last desert step the earth appeared a 
place of ruin and decay, a zone of sinister red and strange 
drab, where rocks and clay had been weathered into fan- 
tastic shapes. Marian likened the region to an inferno. 
Soon it lay behind, and she found herself confronted with 
a wide valley between glaring walls of rock. Dark rich 


green fields of alfalfa formed the floor of this valley, making 


the hot walls of stone naked and stark by contrast. Marian 
saw clusters of trees beginning to show green, and the roofs 


‘of two flat houses. 


26 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“What’s this place?” she inquired. 

“Copenwashie,” replied the Indian. 

“Are those green fields Indian farms?” 

“Some are. White people got most land now.” 

“But isn’t this a reservation for the use of Indians?” went 
on Marian, curiously. 

All the reply she received was a grunt of disgust. “The 
Indian drove fast up this level valley, making the dust fly 
from under his car. When he came to the first house he 
stopped and carried packages in. Marian saw no one. In 
the fields, however, were picturesque laborers she took to be 
Indians. Upon resuming the journey her guide pointed out 
some low stone houses, standing back under shelving cliffs, 
surrounded by greening trees. “These were the homes of 
missionaries. From that point the road ascended the side 
of a steep gorge. Up on top of this elevation the land 
was level, covered with rough low bushes, dull green in 
color. Gray and red buildings showed in the distance, and 
long lines of bare trees. In a few moments the car had 
reached them. Marian was consumed with interest and 


curiosity. 
“Mesa. We stop little while,” said the driver, coming to 
a halt before one of the stone structures. It was large, 


with few windows, and appeared rather inhospitable-looking. 
Little ragged wild ponies wearing crude square-topped. 
saddles stood near by with bridles down. 

‘Are they Indian horses?” she asked. 

“Yes. Not much good. You wait,” he replied, with his 
reassuring smile. “This trading post. People friendly. You 
goin. I take mail.” 

Marian got out, glad to stretch her limbs again, and 
strolled to and fro. She saw a wide tree-lined avenue, with 
well-built gray stone houses on one side, and large red stone 
buildings on the other. These latter she took to be the gov- 
ernment school quarters. How out of place they seemed! 
The great tableland of desert seemed to encompass them, 
accentuating their incongruity. “The avenue was long, so 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 27 


that Marian could not see what lay at the upper end. ‘Then 
her attention was attracted toward the trading post. Three 
men, Indians, had just come out. “They wore white man’s 
garb, even to shoes and hats, and did not rouse Marian’s 
admiration. What swarthy faces, secretive and impassive— 
what sloe-black eyes, beady and sharp! These Indians 
watched her. Marian suffered something of disillusion and 
disappointment at sight of them. “Then a white man ap- 
peared, tall, sandy-haired, and open-faced. 

“Come in. I’m Paxton, the trader,” he said. “My wife 
is always glad to meet visitors. You must be tired and 
hungry. And it’s a good way to Kaidab.” 

“Thank you, I am hungry, but not tired,” replied Marian, 
as she followed him in, wondering how he had learned where 
she was going. He led her through a huge hall-like store- 
room, in which counters and shelves were loaded with mer- 
chandise, to another part of the house, into a living room, 
comfortable and pleasant. “There Marian met the trader’s 
wife, a young and comely woman who was most kindly and 
agreeable. Neither by word nor by look did she manifest 
any curiosity. She was merely glad to meet a strange visitor 
and to give her a little rest and refreshment. Marian liked 
her. 

“T’m on my way to Kaidab,” she volunteered. 

“Well, I’m glad of that. It’s fine of you to be interested. 
God knows the Indians need friends. We traders believe 
we are about the only friends they have.” 

Marian asked casual questions about the Indians, being 
careful not to give an impression of more than ordinary 
interest. And altogether she spent a pleasant half hour with 
Mrs. Paxton. 

“T hope you come to Mesa again,” said her hostess, as they 
passed out through the store. From the door Marian saw a 
white man standing beside the car, in conversation with 
the Indian driver. 

“There’s Friel,” went on Mrs. Paxton, and evidently the 
recognition of the man changed her train of thought. 


28 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Who’s Friel?” queried Marian. | 

“He’s a missionary,” she replied, ‘“‘but of the kind that I’m 
afraid does more to antagonize the Indians against the church 
than to instil the true spirit of Christianity.” 

Marian, somewhat startled, made no direct reply to Mrs. 
Paxton’s statement. ‘Thank you for your kindness,” she 
said. ‘Im sure we'll meet again. Good-by.” 

Marian walked out to the car. At her step the man 
designated by Mrs. Paxton turned to see her. Marian was 
used to meeting strangers and classifying them, after the 
manner of women. But she had not any recollection of a 
type like this man. 

“T’m Mr. Friel,” he said, touching his sombrero. “Can I 
do anything for you?” 

“No, thank you,” replied Marian. 

His face had the brown of the open, but it was not one 
that inspired Marian to interest or liking. Quick was she to 
see the gleam of curiosity in his eyes, and then, as he took 
a good look at her, the leap of admiration. 

“You're traveling alone,” he said. “May I know your 
errand ?” 

Marian told him what she had told the trader’s wife. 
(Then she felt rather than saw an increased interest in her, 
with something of antagonism. 

“Have you permission to go on the reservation?” he 
inquired. 

“No. Is it—compulsory ?” 

“I—well—no, hardly that. But it is always best for 
visitors to see Mr. Blucher.” 

“Who is he?” 

“The agent in charge of the reservation. 

“Very well. Where can I find him?” 

“Unfortunately Mr. Blucher is away attending an inves- 
tigation. But I can take it upon myself to—to make every- 
thing all right. Wouldn’t you like to see the school ?” 

Marian felt that perhaps she was unfairly prejudiced 
against the man, who was well spoken enough. But apart 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 29 


from that Mr. Friel had the look in his eyes which she hated. 
And she never met that look twice. Nevertheless, she must 
accept people out here in the desert as she found them, and if 
possible without suffering indignity, she must learn from 
them. 

“It would be interesting to see the Indian children. I 
may return here and find some kind of work with them. 
But I’ve no time now.” 

“T can get you a position here,” he said, eagerly. He was 
too eager. 

“What authority have you?” asked Marian, bluntly. She 
omitted thanking him. 

“Well, no outright authority to hire government em- 
ployees,”’ he returned. “But I hire people to work for me 
occasionally. And I’m hand in glove with Morgan. He’s 
the power here.” 

“Morgan?” 

“He’s been here over twenty years. And he runs things.” 

“What is he?” 

“Missionary.” 

“So—and if I return here to find work—whom should 
I see first?” 

“Come to me on the quiet. Then we'll see Morgan. 
If you got a job before seeing him you’d soon lose it.” 

“Indeed! Well, Vll think it over,” returned Marian, as 
she stepped to the car. 

Friel took hold of her arm, not to assist her, but to 
keep her from entering. 

“Let me drive you to Kaidab. I have my car here. 
There’s no room in this filthy junk box. Besides, a hand- 
some girl like you oughtn’t be riding alone with one of 
these Indians.” 

“Why not? He’s the mail carrier. I’m paying him for 
driving me.” 

“They’re all alike, these Indian louts. You’re not safe 
with any one of them.” 

“Tf that’s true, Mr. Friel, it doesn’t speak well for your 


30 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


missionary work. I'll take a chance on this Indian. 
Good day.” 

With that Marian resumed her seat in the car and signed 
the driver to start. He did so after a fashion that presup- 
posed he was glad to leave the vicinity. Marian sat back, 
just as ready as she imagined he was. ‘The breeze was 
pleasant. ‘The wide colored spaces beckoned. She was a 
little amazed at the heat running along and cooling out of 
her veins. Upon sober reflection, Marian discerned that she 
resented most the insult to the Indian. She turned to him. 

“Did you understand what that man said?” 

“I savvy him. His head big stick with skin stretched 
over.” 

Marian was forced to admit that the Indian had discern- 
ment and originality. Then straightway she dismissed the 
irritation from her mind. ‘The ride over the desert was all 
important. How far was she from Kaidab—from Oljato? 
Every speeding mile brought her closer to the home of Lo 
Blandy. She whispered his Indian name over and over 
again, trying to accept it and make it familiar. She could 
not succeed. And every thought of him augmented a 
mounting consciousness of an ordeal to come, baffling and 
tremendous in its significance. Yet what sweetness of 
thrill—of strange fire and magic! 

‘The gray clouds soon obscured the sun, and Marian again 
felt the chill of the wind. She bundled up once more. 
Her driver had turned off to the north from the Mesa 
road, and was following a depression of land, where Marian 
could not see far. “There was a stretch of sandy going, 
then a climb up a long slope that led to a level plateau, 
sparsely green with plants, and monotonously gray with dis- 
tance. Here the Indian put the car to its limit of speed, 
too fast and too noisy for Marian’s pleasure. Yet she 
gazed from one side to the other, eager to see. Eastward 
were long ragged lines of blue earth or rock, evidently mark- 
ing a canyon. ‘lo the west the only mark of note was a 
great white bluff, standing alone, flat-topped, with bare 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 31 


sloping sides. Soon the gray obscurity ahead turned out to 
be snow, a driving hard storm that put Marian to another 
test. Burying her face in scarf and coat collar, she crouched 
there and endured. Meanwhile time passed and likewise 
the miles. When the storm cleared away and the sun shone 
again Marian had reached a wide red basin, sand-sloped 
and walled in by low cliffs, now shining with wet faces. 

At two o'clock the Indian brought his car to a halt before 
Red Sandy, a fort-like trading post located high upon an 
immense slope of sand. The traders, two young men, were 
as solicitous and kind as had been the Paxtons. Marian was 
indeed glad to warm her frozen cheeks and ears and hands. 
The traders conducted Marian to a loft above their store. 
It was warm, and somehow peculiarly fitting and picturesque 
with its blankets and baskets and other Indian handiwork. 
How weirdly the wind moaned outside! 

From the window of this house Marian had a wonderful 
view that fascinated and repelled her. How desolate and 
dreary! The immense basin appeared to spread to all 
points of the compass. Ponds of water glimmered under 
the lowering sky. Vegetation was so scanty that bushes 
here and there resembled animals. Across the void rose 
a whorl of white cliffs, bold and bleak, worn by the elements 
into strange and irregular conformation. This mass of 
rock ended abruptly in a sheer bluff facing the south. A 
wide avenue of spotted desert land separated it from the rise 
and heave of a black flat mountain to the eastward. Marian 
saw the almost level line of this tableland wander away into 
the distance, gradually to disappear in the north. And 
following the horizon round toward the west she suddenly 
beheld a dim purple-and-white dome. For long it held her 
gaze, not alone because of its beauty. It called. It did not 
seem real, so deep was the purple, so ethereal the white. 

“Is that a mountain?” she asked one of the traders. 

“It shore is,” he replied. ‘“That’s old Nothis Ahn. It’s 
worshiped by the Indians.” 

Marian went back to the car, where the Indian sat wait- 


- 


32 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ing for her. Almost she resented this swift passage across 
the desert. It left no time for realization, let alone contem- 
plation. One more moment she gave to Red Sandy. It 
had beauty, but how austere! ‘There was no life, no move- 
ment. ‘The red colors dominated, but did not stand out. 
‘They merged with the drab, brown, mauve, and gray. Per- 
haps the lowering clouds caused the effect of gloom. “The 
silence was impressive. 

On the way down across the sandy basin Marian espied 
dark riders approaching from around the bluff. She watched 
them grow until they met and passed her, two Indian men 
and one woman, riding shaggy ponies and packing blankets 
and sheepskins behind their saddles. “The woman was 
heavy, garbed in loose dirty garments, with dull, dark face 
and unkempt hair. It was only at a distance that these 
Indians looked picturesque. 

Then there ensued an hour in which the car chugged 
over a sandy road, mostly uphill, with view restricted except 
on the eastern side. Here the long black flat mountain 
assumed nobler proportions. Bands of little horses dotted 
the gray-green rise of ground. An Indian rider appeared on 
the rim of a ridge, loping along, lending a touch of wild- 
ness and life to the scene. Presently the driver called 
Marian’s attention to a mound of earth with a dark hole 
leading into it. “Hogan. Indian house,” he said. How 
crude and primitive! Verily the wants and the comforts of 
the Indians must be few. 

It was only from the high places, Marian came to learn, 
that the incredible openness and boundlessness of the desert 
could be grasped. And there came a ridge summit from 
which she could see afar, down and across a land of prairie, 
on to slowly rising bare waste that swept upward to purple 
and black heights. ‘These colors held her gaze. A round 
knob of stony hill on the left and the continuous range of 
mesa on her right seemed gradually to become less prominent 
in her sight. In another hour she learned that the black 
heights were forests of cedar and the purple ones were 


‘THE VANISHING AMERICAN 33 


meadows of sage. Long before she reached these beautiful 
open patches of purple she became aware of a pervading 
fragrance in the air. It grew keener, stronger, sweeter. 
Marian recognized the odor of sage. Only how wild and 
strange, stifling almost, and wholly exhilarating! Here the 
barrenness of the desert was not in evidence. ‘They had 
climbed to a high elevation. Forest of cedar and field 
of sage encompassed her on all sides. 

If this long twenty mile upgrade of desert had not slowly 
grown from waste to verdure, from desolate, sinister bad- 
lands to noble heights of keen sweet air and beautiful color, 
Marian would not have been prepared for the next phase of 
this bewildering country. But she had been given time. 
She had grown with the miles. 

So that when the Indian driver sped his car down a steep 
break, round curve and corner, out of the forest into a 
changed world of stone, Marian was not utterly con- 
founded. ‘The road stretched on through a long narrow 
pass, above which towered cliffs of red and gold and yellow, 
so lofty that she had to look almost straight up to see their — 
rims. “They seemed not to be cliffs, but stone faces of 
mountains. Marian gazed upward until her eyes ached. 

All too swiftly ran the car and all too short was that pass. 
It opened out upon ridged gray desert, with the black mesa 
on the right zigzagging away to the eastward and the red 
corrugated wall of stone on the left notching its bold sky- 
line away to the north. Ten more miles of travel removed 
both ramparts far to either side. And another hilltop gave 
Marian her first sight of Kaidab. Her letters, her gifts to 
Lo Blandy, had been sent to this trading post. All she saw 
was several low flat stone houses. A crude and dreary 
habitation! Yet no splendid spectacle of the whole long 
ride had given Marian the thrill that now shot over her. 


CHAPTER IV 


(Go at hand, Kaidab trading post showed striking 
aspects of life and activity. Marian looked and looked, 
with mounting delight and wonder. 

First there were a number of the shaggy Indian ponies, 
unhaltered, standing with uplifted heads, and black rolling 
eyes askance on the mail carrier’s car. Several were with- 
out saddles, having blankets tied on their backs; one was of 
a cream color almost pink, with strange light eyes and 
wonderful long mane and tail; most of them were a reddish 
bay in color; and there was a fiery little black that took 
Marian’s eye. 

Huge bags of burlap containing wool were being packed 
into a wagon by Indian freighters. And Indians were 
lounging around, leaning against the stone wall of the trad- 
ing post. [he look of them somehow satisfied Mariart. 
Raven-black hair, impassive faces of bronze, eyes of night, 
lean and erect figures clad in velvet and corduroy, with 
glints of silver and bead ornament—these circumstances 
of appearance came somewhere near fitting Marian’s rather 
sentimental anticipations. 

Before the open front of one building, evidently a store- 
house, other Indians were packing wool in long sacks, a 
laborsome task, to judge from their efforts to hold the sack 
erect and stamp down the wool. ‘The whole interior of this 
open house appeared hung and littered with harness, rope, 
piles of white sacks, piles of wool and skins. ‘The odor of 
sheep struck Marian rather disagreeably. ‘The sun was hot, 
and fell glaringly upon the red blankets. Flies buzzed 
everywhere. And at least a dozen lean, wild-looking and 
inquisitive-eyed dogs sniffed around Marian. Not one of 


34 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 35 


them wagged its tail, White men in shirt sleeves, with 
sweaty faces and hands begrimed, were working over a 
motor-car as dilapidated as the mail carrier’s. “Two Indian 
women, laden with bundles, came out of the open door of 
the trading post. “The older woman was fat and pleasant- 
faced. She wore loose flowing garments, gaudy in color, 
and silver necklaces, and upon her back she carried a large 
bundle or box. When she passed, Marian caught a glimpse 
of a dark little baby face peering out of a hole in that box. 
The younger female was probably a daughter, and she was 
not uncomely in appearance. Something piquant and bright 
haunted her smooth dark face. She was slender. She had 
little feet incased in brown moccasins. She wore what 
Marian thought was velveteen, and her silver ornaments 
were studded with crude blue stones. She glanced shyly at 
Marian. Then an Indian came riding up to dismount near 
Marian. Hewas old. His lean face was a mass of wrinkles, 
and there was iron gray in his hair. He wore a thin cotton 
shirt and overalls—white man’s apparel much the worse for 
wear. Behind his saddle hung a long bundle, a goatskin 
rolled with the fur inside. ‘This he untied and carried into 
the trading post. More Indians came riding in; one of the 
ponies began to rear and snort and kick; the dogs barked; 
whisks of warm and odorous wind stirred the dust; the 
smell of the sheep wool grew stronger; low guttural voices 
of Indians mingled with the sharper, higher notes of white 
men. 

A sturdily built, keen-eyed man stalked out of the post, 
with a hand on the Indian mail carrier’s shoulder. He 
wore a vest over a flannel shirt, but no coat or hat. His 
boots were rough and dusty. 

“Take her bags in,” he said to the Indian. 

Then, at his near approach, Marian felt herself scanned by 
a gaze at once piercing and kindly. 

“Glad to welcome you, Miss Warner,” he said. “Been 
expecting you for two hours. I’m John Withers.” 


36 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Marian offered her hand. “Expecting me?” she queried, 
curiously. 

“News travels fast in this country,’ he replied, with 
a smile. ‘‘“An Indian rode in two hours ago with the news © 
you were coming.” 

“But my name?” asked Marian, still curious. 

“Mrs. Withers told me that and what you looked like. 
She’ll shore be glad to see you. Come, we'll go in.” 

Marian followed him into the yard beside the trading post, 
where somewhat in the background stood a low, squat, 
picturesque stone house with roof of red earth. Her curi- 
osity had developed into wonder. She tingled a little at an — 
implication that followed one of her conjectures. How 
could Mrs. Withers know what she looked like? Withers 
ushered her into a wonderful room that seemed to flash 
Indian color and design at her. Blankets on floor and 
couch, baskets on mantel and wall, and a strange painted 
frieze of Indian figures, crude, elemental, striking—these 
lent the room its atmosphere. A bright fire blazed in the 
open stone fireplace. Books and comforts were not lacking. 
This room opened into a long dining-room, with the same 
ornamental Indian effects. And from it ran a hallway 
remarkable for its length and variety and color of its 
decorations. 

Marian’s quick eyes had only time for one look when a 
woman of slight stature and remarkable face entered. 

“Welcome to Kaidab, Miss Warner,” she said, warmly, 
with extended hands. “We're happy to meet you. We 
hope you will stay long.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Withers. You're very kind. I—I am 
very glad to get here,” replied Marian, just a little confused — 
and nervous. 

“You've had a long, cold ride. And you’re red with dust. 
Oh, I know that ride. I took it first twenty-five years ago, 
on horseback.” 

“Yes, it was hard. And cold—lI nearly froze. But, oh, 
it was wonderful!” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN a7 


Withers laughed his pleasure at her words. ‘Why, 
that’s no ride. You're just on the edge of real wild coun- 
try. We're going to show you.” 

“John, put Miss Warner’s bags in the second room. And 
send some hot water. After she’s comfortable and rested 
we can talk.” 

Marian found the room quaint and strange as the others. 
It had a clean, earthy smell. The walls appeared to be 
red cement—adobe, Marian supposed—and they were cold. 
While washing and changing her dusty clothes she pondered 
over her singular impressions of Mrs. Withers. She was no 
ordinary woman. For some reason not apparent to Marian 
her hostess had a strong personal regard for her. Marian 
had intuitively felt this. Besides she must have been a 
woman used to welcoming strangers to this wild frontier. 
Marian sensed something of the power she had felt in women 
of high position, as they met their guests; only in the case 
of Mrs. Withers it was a simplicity of power, a strange, 
unconscious dignity, spiritual rather than material. But 
Marian lost no time in making herself comfortable or con- 
jecturing about Mrs. Withers. She felt drawn to this 
woman. She divined news, strange portents, unknown 
possibilities, all of which hurried her back to the living 
room. Mrs. Withers was there, waiting for her. 

“How sweet and fair you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Withers, 
with an admiring glance at Marian’s face. ‘We don’t see 
your kind out here. ‘The desert is hard on blondes.” 

“So I imagine,” replied Marian. “T’ll not long remain 
‘Benow di cleash!’ . . . Is that pronounced correctly?” 

Mrs. Withers laughed. ‘Well, I understand you. But 
you must say it this way .. . ‘Benow di cleash!’” 

Her voice had some strange, low, liquid quality utterly 
new to Marian. 

“Mrs. Withers, you know where I got that name,” as- 
serted Marian. 

“Yes, I’m happy to tell you I do,” she rejoined, earnestly. 
Marian slowly answered to the instinct of the moment. Her 


38 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


hands went out to meet those offered by Mrs. Withers, 
and she gazed down into the strange strong face with its 
shadows of sorrow and thought, its eyes of penetrating and 
mystic power. 

“Tet us sit down,” continued Mrs. Withers, leading the 
way to the couch. ‘‘We’ll have to talk our secrets at odd 
moments. Somebody is always bobbing in... . First, I 
want to tell you two things—that I know will make us 
friends.” 

“T hope so—believe so,” returned Marian, trying to hold 
her calm. 

“Listen. All my life I’ve been among the Indians,” said 
Mrs. Withers, in her low voice. “I loved Indians when I 
was achild. I’ve been here in this wild country for many 
years. It takes years of kindness and study to understand 
the Indian. . . . These Indians here have come to care 
for me. ‘They have given me a name. They believe me— 
trust me. They call on me to settle disputes, to divide prop- 
erty left by their dead, to tell their troubles. I have learned 
their dreams, their religion, their prayers and legends and 
poetry, their medicine, the meaning of their dances. And 
the more I learn of them the more I love and respect them. 
Indians are not what they appear to most white people. 
They are children of nature. ‘They have noble hearts and 
beautiful minds. ‘They have criminals among them, but in 
much less proportion than have the white race. “The song 
of Hiawatha is true—true for all Indians. ‘They live in a 
mystic world of enchantment peopled by spirits, voices, 
music, whisperings of God, eternal and everlasting immor- 
tality. ‘They are as simple as little children. They per- 
sonify everything. With them all is symbolic.” 

Mrs. Withers paused a moment, her eloquent eyes riveted 
upon Marian. 

“For a good many years this remote part of the Indian 
country was far out of the way of white men. Thus the 
demoralization and degradation of the Indian were retarded, 
so far as this particular tribe is concerned. This Nopah 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 39 


‘tribe is the proudest, most intelligent, most numerous, and 


the wealthiest tribe left in the United States. So-called 
civilization has not yet reached Kaidab. But it is coming. 


‘I feel the next few years will go hard with the Indian— 
perhaps decide his fate.” 


““Oh—there seems no hope!” murmured Marian. 
“There indeed seems none, if you look at it intelligently 


‘and mercilessly. But I look at this question as the Indian 


looks at everything. He begins his prayer, “Let all be well 


with me,’ and he ends it, “Now all is well with me.’ He 
feels—he trusts. There really is a God. If there were not 


I would be an infidel. Life on the desert magnified 


all. . . . I want you to let me help you to understand the 


‘Indian. . . . For sake of your happiness!” 


Marian could not voice her surprise. A tremor ran over 


| her. 


“Nophaie showed me your picture—told me about you,” 


“went on Mrs. Withers, with an exquisite softness of voice. 
“Ah! do not be shocked. It was well for him that he con- 
fided in me. ...I1 met him the day he returned from 


, 





the East. JI remembered him. I knew him as a boy, a little 


shepherd who refused to leave his flock in a sandstorm. I 
_know the place where he was born. I know the sage where 
he was stolen. I knew the horsethief who stole him. 1 
' knew the woman who took him East and put him in school. 
_... But Nophaie did not remember me. He went out 
to the sage slopes of Nothsis Ahn, and when he rode back 
he had not his white man’s clothes, or speech, or name. He 
was Nophaie. And he rode here now and then. ‘The In- 
| dians told me about him. He is a chief who wants to help 
them in a white man’s way. But the Indians want him to 
be a medicine man. . . . Well, I saw his trouble, and when 
he came here I talked. I helped him with his own language. 
It returned but slowly. I saw his unhappiness. And in the 
end he told me about you—showed me your picture—con- 


fessed his love.” 
Marian covered her burning face with trembling hands. 


40 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


She did not mind this good woman knowing her secret, 
but the truth spoken out, the potent words, the inevitable 
fact of it being no dream shocked her, stormed her heart. 
Nophaie loved her. He had confessed it to this noble friend 
of the Indians. 

“Marian, do not be ashamed of Nophaie’s love,” went on 
Mrs. Withers, appealingly. ‘““No one else knows. John 
suspects, but is not sure. I understand you—feel with you 
. .. and I know more. You'd not be here if you did not 
love Nophaie!” 

““Of—course I love—him,” said Marian, unsteadily, as she 
uncovered her face. ‘“You misunderstand. I’m not ashamed. 
. . . It’s just the shock of hearing—knowing—the sudden- 
ness of your disclosure.” 

“You musn’t mind me—and my knowing all,” returned 
the woman. “This is the desert. You are among primitive 
peoples. ‘[here’s nothing complex out here. Your sophis- 
tication will fall from you like dead scales.” 

Gathering courage, and moved by an intense and perfect 
assurance of sympathy, Marian briefly told Mrs. Withers of 
her romance with Nophaie, and then of her condition in 
life and her resolve to have her fling at freedom, to live 
a while in the West and in helping the Indians perhaps find 
something of happiness. 

“Ah! You will grieve, but you will also be wonderfully 
happy,” replied Mrs. Withers. “As for Nophaie—you will 
save him. His heart was breaking. And when an Indian’s — 
heart breaks he dies. . . . I kept track of Nophaie. He had 
a remarkable career in college. He was a splendid student 
and a great athlete. I’ve heard that Nophaie’s father was 
a marvelous runner. And he carried the Testing Stone of 
the braves the farthest for generations. . . . But what good 
Nophaie’s education and prowess will do out here is a 
question. He must learn to be an Indian. Eighteen years 
away made him more white than red. He will never go 
back to the white man’s life. . . . Marian, I wonder—does 
that worry you? Be honest with me?” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 41 


“No. I would not want him to go back,” replied Marian, 

“And you said you had no near and dear ties?’ queried 
Mrs. Withers, with her magnetic eyes on Marian’s. 

“None very near or dear.” 

“And you were sick of artificial life—of the modern 
customs—of all that—” 

“Indeed I was,” interrupted Marian. 

“And you really have a longing to go back to simple and 
outdoor ways?” 

“Longing!” exclaimed Marian, almost with passion, car- 
ried out of self-control by this woman’s penetrating power 
to thrill her. ‘“I—I don’t know what it is. But I think 
under my fair skin—I’m a savage!” 

“And you have some money?” 

“Oh, I’m not rich, but then I’m not poor, either.” 

“And you love Nophaie—as you’re sure you could never 
love another man—a white man?” 

“T—I love him terribly,” whispered Marian. ‘‘How can 
I foretell the future—any possible love—again? But I hate 
the very thought. Oh, I had it put to me often enough 
lately—marriage for money or convenience—for a home— 
for children—for anything but love? No. No! Not 
for me.” 

“And will you marry Nophaie?”’ added Mrs. Withers. 

Marian uttered a little gasp. Again it was not shame 
that sent the prickling hot blood to her cheeks, but a libera- 
tion of emotion she had restrained. ‘This blunt and honest 
woman called to her very depths. 

“Nophaie is an Indian,” Mrs. Withers went on. “But 
he’s a man. I never saw a finer man—white or red... . 
I think you’re a fortunate girl. To love and be loved—to 
live in this desert—to see its wildness and grandeur—to 
learn of it from an Indian—to devote your energies to a 
noble cause! I hope you see the truth!” 

“T don’t see very clearly, but I believe you,” replied 
Marian. “You express something vague and deep in me— 


42 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


that wants to come out. ... I ought not forget to tell 
you—Nophaie never asked me to—to marry him.” 

“Well, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, believe me,” 
returned the older woman. “I’ve seen some lovelorn Indians 
in my day, but Nophaie beats them all. . . . What do you 
think you’ll do—send for him or ride out to his home?” 

“TI’d rather meet him out—away—somewhere in the 
desert,” replied Marian, in thoughtful perplexity. “But 
would that be—be all right? It’s so unheard of—this thing 
I’m doing. I want to do it. The strongest feelings in me 
sanction it. But I’m sensitive—I don’t want people to know. 
Oh, it’s the cowardice and deceit of my kind.” 

“Certainly it'll be all right. John will take you to meet 
Nophaie,” rejoined Mrs. Withers, warmly. ‘And no one, 
except John and me, will be in the secret. We'll tell the 
men and everyone who happens along that you’ve come out 
to work among the Indians.” 

“Thank you. That will make it easier for me until I 
find myself. . . . I was brazen enough when I started out. 
But my courage seems oozing away.” 

“TI reckon these first days will be hard for you. But 
don’t get blue. All will be well. You’re young, healthy, 
strong. You havea mind. You'll have a wonderful experi- 
ence out here and be the better, if not the happier for it.” 

At that juncture Withers came tramping into the room. 

“Say, you look like you’d be good medicine,” he said 
heartily, as he stood gazing, somewhat surprised and wholly 
delighted. “\/hat the desert will do to that complexion! 
. . . Well, miss, a Pahute Indian just rode in. He saw 
Nophaie this morning and talked with him. I thought 
you'd be glad to hear that.” 

“Oh—to-day! So near!” exclaimed Marian. 

“Shore can’t call it near—if you mean where Nophaie is. 
Nigh on to a hundred miles.” 

“What did he tell you?” queried Marian, eagerly. 

“Not much, I just asked if he’d seen Nophaie. He said 
he had, at sunup this morning. Nophaie was with the sheep. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 43 


It’s lambing time out there. Nophaie was a great shepherd 
boy. I’ve heard before how he goes with the sheep. ‘This 


Pahute laughed and said, ‘Nophaie forgets his white mind 


-and goes back to the days of his youth.’ I think all the 
Indians feel joy over Nophaie’s renunciation of the white 


man’s life.” 
“May I take a look at this Pahute?” asked Marian. 
“Come on. I'll introduce you,” replied Withers, with 
a laugh. 
“Yes, go out with him,” interposed Mrs. Withers. “I 


“must see about dinner.” 


“I don’t want to be introduced or have this Pay—Pahute 
see I’m interested,’ said Marian to Withers, as they passed 


out of the house. “I think it’s a matter of sentiment. I 


just want to—to look at the Indian who saw Nophaie this 


“very day.” 


“IT was only joking, Miss Warner,” returned Withers, 


“seriously. “This Pahute is a bad Indian. He’s got a 
-record, I’m sorry to say. He’s killed white men and Indians 


both.” 
“Oh! I’ve heard or read that fights and bloodshed were 
things of the past.” 


“Shore you have,” 


said Withers, with a grim note in his 


‘voice. ‘But you heard or read what’s not true. Of course 
the frontier isn’t wild and bad, as it was forty years ago, 


when I was a boy. Nor anything so tough as fifteen years 
ago when the Indians killed my brother. But this border is 
yet a long way from tame.” 

He led Marian through the back of the gray stone house 
into the store. “The center of this large room was a stone- 
floored square, walled off from the spacious and crowded 
shelves by high counters. Indians were leaning against these 
counters. Marian saw locks of raven black hair straggling 
from under dusty crumpled black sombreros. She saw the 
flash of silver buckles and ornaments. She heard the clink 
of silver money and low voices, in which the syllable pre- 
dominating sounded like toa and taa. All these Indians had 


44 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


their backs turned to Marian and appeared to be making 
purchases of the white man behind the counter. Piles of 
Indian blankets covered the ends of the counters. Back of 
them on the shelves were a variety of colored dry goods 
and canned foods and boxes and jars. From the ceiling 
hung saddles, bridles, lanterns, lassos—a numberless assort- 
ment of articles salable to Indians. 

“Here’s your Pahute,” said Withers, pointing from the 
doorway out into the open. “Not very pretty, is he?” 

Marian peeped out from behind the trader to see a 
villainous-looking little Indian, black almost, round-faced, 
big-nosed, with the boldest, hardest look she had ever seen 
on a human being’s face. He wore a high-crowned conical- 
shaped sombrero, with a wide stiff brim. It was as black as 
his hair and ornamented with bright beads. His garb con- 
sisted of a soiled velvet or corduroy shirt, and trousers of 
blue jeans. His silver-dotted belt held a heavy gun. A 
shiny broad silver bracelet circled a sinewy wrist, from which 
hung a leather quirt. Altogether this Indian was not a 
pleasant and reassuring sight for the eyes of a city girl, new 
on the desert. Yet he fascinated Marian. 

“Well, what do you think of him?” asked Withers, 
smiling. 

“I’m not especially taken with him,” replied Marian, 
with a grimace. “I prefer to see him at a distance. But 
he looks—like—” 

“Like the real thing. You bet he is. But to give the 
devil his due, this Pahute hasn’t done a mean or vicious thing 
since Nophaie came back. ‘The Indians tell me Nophaie has 
_talked good medicine to him.” 

“What is this medicine?” asked Marian. 

“The Indians make medicine out of flowers, roots, bark, 
herbs, and use it for ills the same as white people do. But 
medicine also means prayer, straight talk, mystic power of | 
the medicine men of the tribe and their use of sand 
paintings.” 


——— 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 45 


“What are they?” 

“When the medicine man comes to visit a sick Indian he 
makes paintings on a flat rock with different colored sands. 
He paints his message to the Great Spirit. These paintings 


are beautiful and artistic. But few white people have ever 


seen them. And the wonderful thing is that the use of them 


nearly always cures the sick Indian.” 


“Then Nophaie has begun to help his people?” 
“He shore has.” 
“YT am very glad,” said Marian, softly. “I remember he 


| always believed he could not do any good.” 


“We're glad, too. You see, Miss Warner, though we 


live off the Indians, we’re honestly working for them.” 


“The trader at Mesa said much the same, and that 
traders were the only friends the Indians had. Is it true?” 

“We believe so. But I’ve known some missionaries who 
were honest-to-God men—who benefited the Indians.” 

“Don’t they all work for the welfare of the Indians?” 

The trader gave her a keen, searching look, as if her 
query was one often put to him, and which required tact 
in answering. 

“Unfortunately they do not,” he replied, bluntly. 
“Reckon in every walk of life there are men who betray 
their calling. Naturally we don’t expect that of mission- 
aries. But in Morgan and Friel we find these exceptions. 
They are bad medicine. ‘The harm they do, ini many cases, 
is counteracted by the efforts of missionaries who work sin- 
cerely for the good of the Indian. As a matter of fact some 
of the missionaries don’t last long out here, unless they give 
in to Morgan’s domination.” 

“Why, that seems strange!” said Marian, wonderingly. 
“Has this Morgan power to interfere with really good 
missionaries ?”’ 

“Has he?” replied Withers, with grim humor. “I reckon. 
He tries to get rid of missionaries he can’t rule, or, for that 
matter, anybody.” 


46 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“How in the world can he do that?” demanded Marian, 
with spirit. 

“Nobody knows, really. But we who have been long on 
the reservation have our ideas. Morgan’s power might be 
politics or it might be church—or both. Shore he stands 
ace high with the Mission Board in the East. ‘[here’s no 
doubt about the Mission Board being made up of earnest 
churchmen who seek to help and Christianize the Indians. 
I met one of them—the president. He would believe any 
criticism of Morgan to be an attack from a jealous mis- 
sionary or a religious clique of another church. ‘The facts 
never get to this mission board. “That must be the cause 
of Morgan’s power. Some day the scales will fall from 
their eyes and they'll dismiss him.” 

“How very different—this missionary work—from what 
we read and hear!’ murmured Marian, dreamily thinking of 
Nophaie’s letter. 

“T reckon it is,” said Withers. ‘“Iake, for instance, the 
case of young Ramsdell, the cowboy missionary. Ramsdell’s 
way of work ruffled Morgan. ‘This cowboy preacher first 
got the Indians to like and trust him. Morgan and his ally 
feared Ramsdell was getting influence. He worked with 
the Indians digging ditches, plowing, planting, and building. 
Ramsdell was a good mechanic and he tried to teach things 
to the Indians. Then he did not thrust his religion down 
their throats. Hbell’s fire and all such things had no place 
in his talks. More significant, perhaps, to the Indians, was 
the fact that Ramsdell never had anything to do with Indian 
women. He was a rough diamond, a hard-riding parson. 
Well, Morgan called one of his investigations, his tribunals. 
He and Friel and the agent Blucher constituted themselves 
the Mission Board out here. “They brought Ramsdell to 
their court and accused him of being a leader in heathenism. 
This charge was based on the fact that he dressed in Indian 
costume for the entertainment of Indian children. Another 
charge was that he was too friendly with us traders to be a 
true missionary. He was dismissed. So rolls on the Chris- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 47 


tian Juggernaut! Sometimes I do not wonder at the utter 
incredulity and scorn of the Indians.” 

Withers seemed suddenly conscious of the profound shock 
his statements had given Marian. ‘Then, just as earnestly, 
though not so forcefully, he talked further. He explained 
that many of the missionaries sent out there had been mis- 
fits in other walks of life. Some of them had not been 
preachers. Many of them had been weak men, who found 
themselves far from civilization and practically in control 
of a defenceless race. “They yielded to temptation. “They 
were really less to blame for evil consequences than the 
combination of forces that had sent them out there to the 
bleak, wild desert. Lastly, Withers claimed that it was 
this system which was wrong—the system that ignorantly 
and arbitrarily sent inferior men to attempt to teach 
Christianity to Indians. 

Marian sensed poignantly the subtle and complex nature 
of this question of the missionary work. “The Paxtons had 
given the same impression. Again she remembered Nophaie’s 
letter, which she had reread only the day before, and now 
began to acquire her own objective impressions of what must 
be a tremendous issue. And suddenly she realized that she 
was no longer at sea in regard to her motive or intention— 
she had fixed and settled her determination to stay out there 
on the desert. 

“Miss Warner, do you want me to send a message or 
letter to Nophaie by this Pahute?” inquired Withers. ‘‘He’ll 
ride out to-morrow.” 

“No. Id rather go myself,” replied Marian. “Mrs. 
Withers said you’d take me. Will you be so kind?” 

“T shore’ll take you,” he rejoined. “I’ve got some sheep 
out that way, and other interests. It’s a long ride for a 
tenderfoot. How are you on a horse?” 

“T’ve ridden some, and this last month I went to a riding 
school three times a week. I’m pretty well hardened. But 
of course I can’t really ride. I can learn, though.” 

“It’s well you broke in a little before coming West. Be- 


48 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


cause these Nopah trails are rough riding, and you'll have all 
you can stand. When would you like to start?” 

“Just as soon as you can.” 

“Day after to-morrow, then. But don’t set your heart on 
surprising Nophaie. It can’t be done.” 

“Why? If we tell no one?” 

“Things travel ahead of you in this desert. It seems the 
very birds carry news. Some Indian will see us on the way, 
ride past us, or tell another Indian. And it'll get to Nophaie 
before we do.” 

“What will get to Nophaie?”’ 

“Word that trader Withers is riding west with Benow di 
cleash. Shore, won’t that make Nophaie think?” 

“He'll know,” said Marian, tensely. 

“Shore. And he'll ride to meet you. I'll take you over 
the Pahute trail. You'll be the first white person except 
myself ever to ride it. You must have nerve, girl.” 

“Must I? Oh, my vaunted confidence! My foolish 
little vanity! Mr. Withers, I’m scared of it all—the big- 
ness, the strangeness of this desert—of what I must do.” 

“Shore you are. That’s only natural. Begin right now. 
Use your eyes and sense. Don’t worry. ‘Take things as 
they come. Make up your mind to stand them. All will 
be well.” 

At a call from the interior of the store Withers excused 
himself and left Marian to her own devices. So, not without 
dint of will power, Marian put hesitation and reserve away 
from her and stepped out among the soft-footed nosing dogs 
and the shaggy, wild-eyed ponies and the watchful, lounging 
Indians. She managed to walk among them without betray- 
ing her true sensations. ‘The ordeal, so far as the Indians 
were concerned, gradually became easier, but she could not 
feel at ease among those pale-eyed sheep-dogs, and she did 
not lose her fear of being kicked by one of the ponies. ‘The 
wool freighters interested her. ‘They piled on the enormous 


brown sacks until the load stood fifteen feet above the 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 49 


wagon bed. Marian wondered if they intended to start off 
at this late hour. Presently the coarse odor of sheep grew 
a little too much for her and she strolled away, past the 
group of Indians toward the gate of the yard. ‘Then from 
the doorway Mrs. Withers called her to supper. 


CHAPTER V 


WENTY-FOUR hours at Kaidab were for Marian 
exceedingly full and prolific of new sensation. 

A sunset over the deep notch between the red rampart 
and the black mesa to the west—trailing transparent clouds 
of purple and rose and white rimmed by golden fire; a 
strange, sad twilight, deepening into desert night with the 
heavens dark blue and radiant with a million stars; a walk 
out into the lonely melancholy silent emptiness; a wonder- 
ful hour with this woman who loved and knew the souls and 
lives of Indians; a sinking to sweet rest with eyelids seem- 
ingly touched by magic; a broken moment of slumber when 
the dead stillness awakened to wild staccato yelps and 
mournful cries; a cold, keen, invigorating dawn; and then 
a day of thrills, not the least of which was a horseback ride 
out across the sandy, green-dotted plain with an Indian boy 
—these somehow augmented the process of change in 
Marian’s heart, and clarified her mind, and established the 
strange fact of love for the desert. It seemed like the evolu- 
tion of long period. Out of these hours grew realization 
of the unlimited possibilities of life and joy and labor. 
Never before had she divined the meaning of the words, 
““The world is so full of a number of things.” 

‘That evening in another and more important council with 
Mrs. Withers, the matter of Marian’s work was discussed. 
They both agreed that a beginning should be made at Mesa, 
in whatever connection might be available at the Indian 
school. It was decided that in case Marian’s overtures there 
were futile she could come back to Kaidab and go about her 
work among the Indians on her own initiative. Nophaie’s 
possible wishes and suggestions were taken into considera- 


50 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 51 


tion. Neither Mrs. Withers nor Marian, however, antici- 
pated anything but approval from him. What he might 
have to tell Marian could only inspire her or drive her to 
greater efforts. As for the language, Marian decided she 
would be quick to learn enough of that to get along with 
the Indians, and proficiency would come with time. 
Next morning Marian arose at five o’clock. Did the cold 
desert air have all to do with her exhilaration? How 
strange the long black horizon line with its sharp silhouettes 
against the pure pale golden flare of sky! Marian’s heart 
swelled and beat high. What sweetness life held! She was 
grateful for this new significance. “The water had a touch 
of ice and made her fingers tingle. It was with real pleas- 
ure that she donned her rough warm outdoor garb—blouse 
of flannel, riding trousers and boots. She had coat and 
sweater and heavy gloves to go with them. But somehow 
the hat she had brought did not now seem suitable. It was 
too jaunty, too small. Still, she would have to wear it, for 
she had nothing else. Other necessities she packed in a 
small duffle bag. 
When she got outdoors the sun had risen and appeared 
to be losing its brightness. A gray haze of cloud overspread 
the sky. The wind was cold, gusty, and whipped at Mar- 
ian’s hair. Indians were riding in to the post, and already 
the work of the day was under way. Withers, bareheaded 
-and coatless as usual, was directing the packing of two 
mules. Manifestly he did not wholly approve of the way 
the men were roping on the huge canvas rolls, for he jerked 
_a loop loose and called out, derisively, ““That’s no diamond 
hitch.” And he proceeded to do it in a style that suited 
‘him. Marian could not follow the intricate looping, but she 
certainly saw Withers and his man stand on opposite sides 
of the mule, and place a foot on him while they both leaned 
back and pulled with all their might. No wonder the poor 
mule heaved and laid back his ears and looked around as if 
‘in protest. Marian thought it was strange the animal did 


52 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


not burst. Presently Withers espied her. Then he halted 
in his task. 

“Say, Johnny, will you run in the house and ask for 
Miss Warner,” he said, quite seriously. 

Marian was nonplused and then confused. Could it be 
possible that Mr. Withers did not recognize her? Indeed, 
it was a fact that the dignity of her twenty-three years and 
something of her stature seemed to vanish when she put on 
masculine garb. 

“But—Mr. Withers. I—I am Miss Warner,” she said, 
almost involuntarily. She did not quite trust him. 

A broad smile spread over his face and a twinkle shone 
in his eye. 

“Shore I thought you were a boy,” he said. “Was won- 
dering where such a boy might come from. You shore look 
good medicine to me.” 

His frank admiration was pleasing to Marian. She would 
have much preferred to appear before Nophaie in distinctly 
feminine apparel, such as she had worn when he first saw 
her. But it would have been out of place here, and she 
had a moment of happiness in the thought that perhaps 
Nophaie, too, would find her attractive in this riding suit. 

““Reckon we're going to have some wind to-day,” said 
Withers, as he scanned the eastern horizon. “Couldn’t you 
put off going till to-morrow?” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” cried Marian, aghast. “Mr. 
Withers, you don’t really mean we oughtn’t to go?” 

“Yes, I do, but if you feel that way, we’re shore going,” 
he replied, decidedly. ‘You may as well get used to blowing 
sand now as later. Have you got glasses?” 

“Yes, I have my auto glasses.” 

“That’s good. But you’ll have to find another hat.” 

“Oh, I was afraid of this—the looks of it, I mean. 
What’s wrong with it?” 

“Shore, its looks are great. But it’s no good. You want 
a sombrero with a wide brim. It protects your face from 
sun and rain. You're going to get sunburnt, miss.’ 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 53 
That won’t bother me, Mr. Withers,” replied Marian 


_ “My skin looks delicate, but really it’s tough. I burn red— 
then brown.” 


“Well, we shall see. If you haven’t a sombrero [’ll dig 


up one for you.” 


Marian never experienced such an endless hour as the 


ensuing one before Withers was ready to start. Breakfast 


for her seemed a superfluous thing. Yet she was hungry. 


_ All the time she was aware of Mrs. Wither’s eloquent and 


penetrating glances, and the subtle little smile of under- 


standing and sympathy. This woman who loved Indians 


understood her, and was living with her these thrilling, call- 
ing moments of young life. Yet a haunting sadness, too, 


seemed to hover, like a shadow, in those magnetic eyes. 


Withers was gay, and given to railery, directed at Marian’s 
boyish looks. But at last breakfast was over, and the inter- 
val of wait following. 

“Marian, you’re in for a hard but glorious trip. No 


words of mine can tell you. Nophaie’s country is beyond 
words to describe. Remember, study of this desert will 


reward you. ... Be careful on high trails. Good-by.” 


Two Indians drove the pack-mules ahead of Marian. 


Withers had instructed her to mount and ride after them. 


He would presently follow. ‘To her disappointment, she 


had been given a horse instead of one of the shaggy Indian 
mustangs—a short, stocky horse not at all spirited and quite 
ugly. But when she had gotten astride of him, ready to 


try to adapt herself to saddle and motion, she found to her 


_amaze that she did not seem to need to do anything. “The 


horse started off. He moved briskly. But it was not a 


trotting gait. Se had ridden at a trot yesterday, and as- 


suredly soon tired of it. This gait was new to her, and she 


had imagined she knew something about horses. She felt 


i 
J 


/ 
’ 


as if she were riding in a rocking-chair that moved on a 
level, if such a thing were possible. The motion delighted 
her. 


54 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


One of the Indians was old, judging from his gray hair 
and sloping shoulders. He wore a red bandana round his 
head; a thin cotton blanket, gaudily colored like calico, 
covered his shoulders, and his long legs dangled below his 
stirrups. The other Indian was a boy of sixteen years, per- 
haps, and sight of him was pleasing to Marian. His ebony 
hair waved in the wind; his darkly brown face was round 
and comely; he had eyes as black as his hair, and these, to- 
gether with the smiling parted lips showing white even 
teeth, made of him a handsome youth. 

To see everything was Marian’s resolve. Yet just sight 
of these colorfully clad Indians and the bobbing pack-mules 
made her forget to look anywhere else. She felt the cold 
puff of wind, she smelled the dust, she rode easily without 
any strain whatever. “Then the mustangs and mules ahead 
suddenly went out of sight. The trail had led down over 
a. steep bank. Presently Marian reached it. She was 
amazed to see a deep red gash in the earth, with crumbling 
walls, and a muddy, noisy stream. Mules and mustangs 
were edging foot by foot down a declivity right at the edge 
of the water. ‘The Indians rode fast into the stream, mak- 
ing mud and water fly. ‘They yelled at the mules. Marian 
felt her skin begin to prickle and her heart to beat un- 
wontedly. This horse of hers manifestly had no more regard 
for perpendicular places than for levels. He went right 
down! Marian had no easy time holding on. And though 
not looking directly at the mules, she seemed aware of the 
sudden shortening of their legs. Also she heard a noise 
behind her. 

‘“That’s quicksand,” called Withers from above. ‘‘Safe, 
but you need to hurry Buckskin.” 

Marian had no time even to make up her mind. Buck- 
skin piled off the bank and floundered into the quicksand. 
Marian had her first fright. She felt one of his legs go in 
deep, then another, and another. But he kept moving. He 
did not let two hoofs sink at once. And once well started, 
he crossed that muddy stream at a sharp gait, and climbed 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 55 


a sandy steep trail to the top of the bank. There Marian 


got her foot back in the stirrup and regained some semblance 
of her composure before Withers reached her side. 
“How do you like Buckskin?” queried he. Not a word 


_ about that awful place! 


“I—I guess I like him a lot,” she replied. 
“Shore thought you would. He’s a pacer. You'll ride 


him where you'd fall off another horse. Just let him go. 
_ He knows the trail and he'll keep up. Afraid we're in for 
' some squalls of wind.” 


Withers rode ahead to the pack-mules and quickened 


| their pace. The Indians jogged on in the lead. And 


Marian appeared to be left to her horse and the trail and 


_ the encompassing scenery. Ahead bare hills of yellow stone 


, loomed up high toward the overcast sky. Behind, the desert 
across the wash yawned wide, with level brown floor lead- 
ing away to the trading post and then swelling to bolder 


_ heave, swept away to meet the irregular mesa wall, black 
| against the sky. 


“This—this is just not happening to me,” murmured 
Marian to herself. She would not have changed places with 
anyone in the world. She was free to let herself feel. 

The trail led into a defile through the hills of rock. 


Slanting surfaces rose on both sides of her and gradually 


lifted to imposing heights. In pockets and niches grew 
| stunted cedar trees, with roots growing out of the solid rock. 


The wind did not strike her here, a fact she found reliev- 


‘ing. Buckskin held to a pace that kept him within sight of 
the horses ahead. On rocky places of the trail he appeared 





as surefooted as in the sand. Marian began to appreciate 


_why Withers had chosen him for her. Slowly the slopes 
' closed in, grew higher, and the trail led uphill. Marian 


could not see far. She now felt comfortably warm. Per- 
haps half an hour of a gradual climb brought Marian 


out on top of a ridge from which she soon saw into the 
_ distance. How splendid a scene greeted her! Withers had 
_ waited for her, evidently anticipating her delight. 


56 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Thought you’d like this ten-mile strip,” he said. ‘The 
big black rock standing out of the plain is called ‘the Cap- 
tain.’ And the Indians call that sharp monument you see 
‘Slim Rock that stands High.’ It’s twice as high as your 
Washington soldier monument.” 

Long and green and broad appeared the level hollow of 
desert that led to these upstanding figures, lonely and sen- 
tinel-like in the distance. “Ten miles! It did not seem a 
third of that. Yet Marian, riding on and on, always watch- 
ing these statues of rock, soon discovered how deceiving was 
the distance. For a whole hour these desert monuments did — 
not change shape or size or color. In another hour Marian 
rode between them, to gaze up in awe, to marvel at the black 
granite grandeur of the Captain and the red sandstone splen- 
dor of Slim Rock that stands High. And these were out- 
posts to the gateway of desert land, beyond Marian’s com- 
prehension. She could only look and look, and ask Withers 
questions, and ride on and on, slowly to grow, hour after 
hour, into realization of the deceit of distance, the marvel 
of color, the immensity of these uplands, and the weird, fan- 
tastic, and sublime nobility of sculptured shafts of stone. 

Cold wind, and overshadowing clouds, and frequent gusts 

of flying dust, and brief squalls of pelting sleet, passed by 
over Marian with no more effect than if they had never 
been. Something great was entering her soul. Was this 
the home of Indians? What did white people realize of 
the nature and wildness and loneliness that had created these 
children of the desert? What must dwell in the minds of 
a race living in this land of enchantment? 
_ Then, toward mid-afternoon, what Withers had feared 
and predicted came to pass. “Sandstorm,” he said. “But 
not bad. It won’t last long. Get on your glasses, and cover 
your mouth and nose with your scarf.” 

A pall of yellow swooped down out of the west. Dark 
and weird, magenta in hue, the sun shone through this wall 
of dust. ‘The wonderful landmarks ahead were blotted out. 
‘The sweep of this desert storm seemed fierce and swiit, swal- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 1a 


lowing up the monuments and the plains, and moving down 
upon Marian with a majestic and inevitable precision. 
Then it enveloped her. 

Marian imagined she grew suddenly blind. And she 
began to choke and suffocate. She had to breathe through 
the scarf, which seemed a thick band and permitted no air 
to pass. There was not enough air. Her lungs lifted and 
heaved. The smell of dust seemed as stifling as the sub- 
stance of it. She felt the fine, thin, stinging particles on 
face and neck. And when that heavy front of the storm 
passed by Marian emerged just in time to escape acute dis- 
tress. Riding was disagreeable still, but gradually the gusts 
of whirling dust lessened, until the storm blew away toward 
the eastward, enveloping the uplands there as it had in the 
west. The sun came out, most pleasantly warming Marian’s 
cold hands and face and lighting the desert. Soon there 
came the best hour of that day, close to sunset, warmer and 
without wind. 

Again Withers waited for her. 

“We're getting somewhere. I didn’t tell you before. 
This is the sage flat where Nophaie used to shepherd his 
sheep. Here he was stolen. . . . Yonder, under that red 
mesa, is the place where the thieves drove his flock. We'll 
camp near it. Way over here—that great break in the red 
wall—is the pass into the Valley of Gods. Nophaie was 
born there.” 

Withers rode on. Marian stared after him and then 
down at the gray sage. She reined in her horse. Here! 
Nophaie, the little Indian boy, lonely shepherd, here stolen! 
A wave of emotion swelled Marian’s breast. “Tears dimmed 
her eyes, so that the gray soft color beneath her grew blurred 
and misty. She wiped her eyes. There appeared to be no 
mark of stone within the circle of her vision. A wide gray- 
green, gently rolling plain of sage led everywhere toward 
the upstanding rocks, the closest of which was the red mesa 
Withers had signified. Marian dismounted and, gathering 
a bit of the fragrant sage, she placed it in the pocket of her 


58 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


blouse, and meant to treasure it always. “Then with a hand 
on her horse she gazed away across the plain toward the up- 
lands where Nophaie had been born. It meant much to her, 
to tread on the earth that had known Nophaie’s boyhood feet, 
to see the wild rock towers that had shadowed his birth- 
place. Magnificent monuments, pillars and columns and 
shafts, all reflecting the gold and red of the sunset, far 
away and infinitely lonely, speared the horizon line and the 
white clouds. Valley of Gods! 

Marian mounted and did not look back. Her heart was 
full. To the fore stretched the trail, winding through the 
sage. It led her under the shadow of the ponderous red 
mesa, a massive butte with columns like an organ, standing 
out alone in the desert, far from the main wall of the up- 
lands. Upon a grassy bench Withers had made camp. AlI- 
ready a fire was burning. ‘The horses were rolling. ‘The 
Indians were unpacking the mules. 

“Get down and come in,” said Withers, cheerily. “Find 
a seat and rest yourself. We’ll soon have supper.” 

Marian became conscious of aching bones and tired 
muscles. She was glad to rest. All that pertained to this 
trip was of extreme interest to her, but just now seemed 
subservient to the personal haunting thoughts in connection 
with Nophaie. She forced herself to watch Withers at his 
camp tasks. He did not appear to be in a hurry, yet results 
multiplied magically, and all in a few minutes, apparently, 
there was supper steaming fragrantly, and a little tent 
stretched over a roll of blankets for her bed. Camping 
out was not entirely new to Marian. She had sat round 
camp fires in Maine and the Adirondacks. But this was 
different, just as the Dutch oven was a strange and fascinat- 
ing cooking utensil in her sight. It was a black iron pot 
with a lid. Withers had thrown the lid into the fire. The 
pot sat upon a bed of red coals, raked to one side. Withers 
deposited the hand-modeled biscuits in the oven, lifted the lid 
out of the fire with a stick and set it on the pot. “Then he 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 59 


piled red-hot coals over the lid, and apparently forgot this 
part of his task. Marian was curious to see what happened. 

“Come and get it,’ presently spoke up Withers, in his 
hearty voice. 

“Get what?’ queried Marian. 

“That speech is the Western call to eat.” 

“Oh ... and what’s to become of the biscuits in that 
black pot?” 

“Young lady, after you eat some of my biscuits you will 
never be happy again,” replied the trader, laughing, and 
forthwith proceeded to knock the lid off the oven. Marian 
could scarcely believe her eyes. Next moment she was sit- 
ting cross-legged before a strip of canvas upon which 
Withers spread the repast. The odor that assailed her. 
suddenly awakened a ravishing hunger. And Marian began 
her first meal out on the desert, with an appreciation and 
relish never before experienced in her life. Withers served 
her, then the Indians, who stood by with eager eyes, and 
then himself. Marian’s acute senses fixed the reality of that 
hour—the picturesque Indians, the Western trader, force- 
ful and wholesome and kindly, the fragrance of bacon and 
coffee and hot biscuits, the penetrating cold wind that swept 
in and blew the pungent smoke in her face, the pleasant heat 
of the fire on her back, and outside of that camp circle the 
vague sage-plain environed by looming walls. 

“Shore there’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” re- 
marked Withers, in his quaint way. 

“I’m ashamed of myself, Mr. Withers,” replied Marian. 
“But my excuse is that I never was so hungry nor did I 
taste such good things to eat. Your boast about your bis- 
cuits was not an idle one.” 

The trader evidently enjoyed Marian’s hearty appetite 
and her praise. Later, too, when she insisted upon doing 
some little share of the after-supper tasks, he seemed amused. 
Marian began to associate the simplicity of this Westerner 
with the bold ruggedness of force that characterized him. 

Marian found she needed her heavy coat, but in lieu of 


60 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


that she wrapped a blanket round her and strolled away 
from the camp for a while. The afterglow of sunset came 
out on the distant walls, as if for her especial benefit. How 
delicate and exquisite the softness of rose and gold! ‘They 
faded while she watched. ‘T'wilight seemed to last long, 
but at length night fell. Marian felt alone in the desert. 
The place where Nophaie had been captive with his flock 
was infinitely lonely and sad. The cold wind chilled her 
and swept by her, strangely soundless. “There was abso- 
lutely no break in the silence. She felt that she could not 
have borne such silence for long. Great white stars fired 
the blue sky above the black walls. ‘Thought and emotion 
and loneliness, such as Marian had then, would soon have 
driven her back to camp. But beyond these she was grow- 
ing very cold, and the strange dead darkness roused fear, 
and she was worn out from the long ride. So she turned 
toward the flare of light and the red blaze which marked 
camp. 

Upon near approach Marian had a picture etched upon 
her mind’s eye—the bright glow of camp fire, emphasizing 
the black windy hall of the desert, with the Indians sitting 
before the ruddy blaze and Withers standing with back to 
the heat. Rough bold figures, singularly typical of all that 
pertained to Western color and life, they stood out in sharp 
relief. 

“Shore, I was just going to call you,” said the trader. 
“You mustn’t stray far at night, or any time. Reckon you'd 
better turn in. “To-morrow we hit that Pahute trail.” 

Marian crawled into the little tent, that was so low it 
touched her head as she sat upon her bed, and, making a 
pillow of sweater and coat, she wearily unlaced her boots and 
slipped gratefully down under the heavy woolen blankets. 
She tried to think some more, to realize all that had hap- 
pened, to ponder and dream over the future, but at once she 
was claimed by sleep. 

In the morning Withers called her, and when she crawled 
out of the little tent it was into a wonderful gray of dawn, 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 61 


cold and pure, stingingly sweet with its perfume of desert, 
with the great mesa standing clear and sharp and black 
against the eastern gold of sky. 

“To-day we climb out on top,” was one of the trader’s 
droll remarks. 

An hour after starting, Marian appreciated what he 
meant, though she was utterly at a loss to see how they could 
ever surmount the tremendous red wall toward which they 
were riding. It looked the scarred, blunt face of a moun- 
tain. ‘The slant of broken rock that leaned against its base 
might be surmountable, but it did not extend far up. For 
the hundredth time Marian learned that what she saw at 
a distance was vastly different at close range. 

Marks that had appeared to be scars turned out to be 
ledges and lines of broken cleavage and slopes of talus and 
masses of broken rock, through and over which it at last 
seemed barely possible to climb. ‘The close approach to this 
lofty barrier was not without excitement for Marian. And 
when Withers led off the well-defined trail that kept to the 
lowlands, to take a dim rough trail which turned straight 
for the wall, she felt a deep thrill. This must be the Indian 
trail never traveled by white people. 

“Here’s our Pahute trail.” said Withers, as he dis- 
mounted. “It heads in from cross country. . . . I’m sorry 
to say you'll have to walk. Climb slow—rest often—and 
in bad places keep on the up side of your horse.” 

The Indians were climbing on foot, leading their mus- 
tangs. “The mules were bobbing the packs up a zigzag trail. 
Withers likewise began the ascent. Marian followed, con- 
fident and eager, with eyes roving everywhere. What struck 
her singularly was the fact that, though the immense ascent 
appeared to be perpendicular, there was really foothold upon 
its slope. Whenever she halted to catch her breath she 
gazed at the Indians. ‘They did not rest. Nor did the 
mules. How wonderfully that trail had been worked out, 
zigzagging the first long slope, then taking to ledge and 
crack, and then worming from side to side up a break be- 


62 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


tween two craggy capes! It made Marian dizzy to look 
high at the rim. The Indians passed out of her sight and 
so did the mules, while Withers slowly got far ahead of her. 
Marian did not particularly like this aspect of the case, and 
discovered that Buckskin did not, either. She became ex- 
tremely hampered and hindered by the horse climbing too 
fast behind her. He bumped her with his shoulder, nearly 
knocking her over, and he stepped upon her heels. Marian 
had to keep ahead of him, and on the increasingly steeper 
bits of trail this grew almost too much for her. Buckskin 
either could not or would not climb slowly; and at length 
Marian became aware that he had to expend considerable 
effort to make the grade. “Thus Marian was hard put to 
it herself. 

“Look out below. Dodge the rocks,” yelled Withers 
from far above her. 

The zigzags of the trail had placed him directly over her, 
and evidently his horse had loosened stones. Marian heard 
them clattering down, and quickly she chose a shelving por- 
tion of wall for protection. ‘The sliding stones passed below 
her, gathering momentum and more stones on the way, until 
the sound augmented into rattling roar. “Then it ceased. 

Marian resumed the climb, with most of her confidence 
gone and all of her breath. People back East never saw a 
hill! She thought of a friend who used to refuse to walk 
on a level, let alone upgrade. And soon the sensations of 
warmth and breathlessness passed to those of fire and pain. 
A burden pressed upon her chest and her legs felt dead. 
She learned that to rest long was worse almost than no 
rest at all. For it grew too wonderfully good, if she halted 
more than a moment. So she staggered along and upward, 
panting laboriously, hot and wet, trying to avoid Buckskin 
and to keep from looking down into the void that had be- 
come awful. The light grew brighter over her. She heard 
the trader’s cheery call of encouragement. How endless 
that last steep zigzag to the top! 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 63 


“Fine! Shore, you’re there as a climber. But it’s noth- 
ing to Pahute Canyon,” Withers was saying. 

“OQ—h!” panted Marian, as she dragged herself up to fall 
upon a stone seat. She could not talk. Her breast seemed 
as if it were caved in. ‘The trader’s compliment fell upon 
most doubting and scornful ears. 

“Rest a little,” said Withers, kindly. ‘And then look 
around. We’re on the rim of Nophaie’s country.” 

That roused Marian to a renewed interest. First she 
looked back at the lowlands from which she had climbed. 
How far below! Straight down the trail sheered, yet she 
had ascended it. The Valley of Gods rose prominently out 
of the vast stretch of desert, now visible to the eye; and 
the crowns of the monuments were on a level with the great 
wall from which Marian gazed. ‘They belonged to the 
same strata of red sandstone. All that space below and 
between had weathered away. Worn by wind and sand 
and frost! ‘The fact was plain to Marian, yet incredible. 
What of the ages! “This land of mystery and beauty bade 
fair to transform her. Far away these red stone gods stood 
up, aloof, stupendous, and grand. She watched them for 
moments, and gradually her composure and_ strength 
returned. 

“Shore, I’m glad to see you take to the look of this des- 
ert,’ observed Withers, seriously. ‘“‘Most people don’t. 
Though of course very few ever have the luck to get such 
a view as this. What I mean is, all we have here is won- 
derful country. Indians, horses, birds—what few living 
things there really are seem absolutely not to exist because 
we seldom see them. So there’s nothing to look at but the 
vastness—nothing to think of. ‘That is why an Indian is 
great. He’s like his surroundings.” 

“Tt don’t—know what I feel—and couldn’t tell—if I 
did,” replied Marian. “I want days and months here. .. . 
Yet afterward—could I ever be happy again?” 

“Places have more to do with happiness than people,” re- 


64 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


joined Withers. ‘Well, let’s be drifting. We've only 
climbed the first step up this stairway.” 

And then Marian dreaded to look toward the west. Yet 
she was impelled. Huge and beetling, wild with fringe of 
green trees, another wall obstructed the sky. It was close, 
and northward it broke off abruptly. Withers was riding 
off through a forest of cedar trees. Marian got on her horse, 
not without some sharp pains, and followed the trader, 
deeming it best to keep him in sight. The trail was dim. 
On that bare ground, however, Marian believed she could 
have followed the fresh tracks of the horses in the lead. 

This bench of fragrant green forest soon led to the base 
of a rocky rise where Withers waited for her. 

“Just let Buckskin have free rein,” he said. “I'll keep 
an eye on you. And say, I saw where an Indian horse’s 
tracks cut in on this trail. I'll bet our Pahute you admired 
has gotten ahead of us. If so Nophaie will be on his way to 
meet us before sundown this day.” 

Marian tried to drive thought of such a contingency out 
of her mind. It stormed her and left nothing of sense to 
meet the ever-increasing requirements of this ride. She 
wanted to see all, and not dream the hours away. She 
yearned for this meeting with Nophaie, yet dreaded it. 

Withers held back now and accommodated his progress 
to Marian’s. She felt relieved to have him near, though she 
did not want to talk. Withers, however, had little to say, 
considering time and distance. “They began a long climb 
up over bare yellow rock, wavy, hummocky, ridgy, with 
hills and holes, that somehow permitted a labyrinthine travel 
toward the summit. Not wholly bare was it, for Marian 
saw dwarfed cedars growing in niches where dust and water 
had given growth to a seed. Half a mile this strange slope 
ascended, at length reaching the level of the huge abutment 
of stone she had first noted from the rim below. She 
seemed now on the very summit of the uplands. Yet this 
was not true. There were farther and higher points to the 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 65 


westward. To the north the view offered wide contrast 
with long black ranges of mountains rising to peaks of white. 
“Look back and down!” exclaimed Withers, with a ring 
in his voice. “I’ve been here only once, yet I never could 
forget that—and never will.” 
From this height Marian found the spectacle to be im- 


_ mense and baffling—league on league of gray-green desert— 
_ the red ramparts on each side of the portal to the Valley of 


Gods—and between these wide sentinels the pinnacles of 
grandeur and mystery and light—sacred to the Indian. She 
felt the uplifting of her spirit. Could any soul be dead to 
this? What was nature if not eternal? ‘There were mo- 
ments of life transcendent in revelation to the roused mind. 
Nophaie had made gift to her of this sublimity and never 
would she be the same as she had been. Soon she would 
behold him—the Indian she loved —through whom had come 
deep thoughts and stirrings of her heart, and now the birth of 
nobler understanding. Nature flung its immortal task in her 
face and she learned her first lesson in humility. 


CHAPTER VI 


HAS that vantage point of exceedingly wide range 

Withers led away to the west, ascending one step of the 
bold corner of bluff, and then traveling along at the base 
of a shelving wall, in the shade of which were rich green 
growths. Damp, cold atmosphere here assailed Marian. 
The cause of this appeared to be banks of snow filling the 
hollows under the wall. A crusting of red dust covered 
the snow. 

Marian reveled in riding the kind of trail here presented. 
It was soft red earth, without rocks or deep washes, and it 
wound along the bold corners of the wall, under the loom- 
ing shade, through thick pifions and cedars, with always a 
changing scene out across the wild uplands. ‘The last quar- 
ter-circle round that widened wall sent the creeping cold 
sensations over Marian, for the overhanging sections of 
crumbling cliff above and the abrupt opening of an abyss 
below, a sinister chasm, a thousand feet deep, made this 
part of the trail a perilous one. 

Then once more Marian rode out into the sunlight, with 
level open desert ahead. “The Indians and pack-mules were 
in sight, going into a dark-green forest of cedars and pifions, 
larger and richer than those below. Mile after mile this 
forest rolled westward, rising to plain of purple sage. Be- 
yond the horizon of deep color rose a black-and-white dome 
of a mountain that Marian believed she recognized as Noth- 
sis Ahn, the first sight of which she had obtained at Red 
Sandy. As she rode westward this mountain top dropped 
below the horizon. 

Marian began to find the saddle and stirrups and motion 
most uncomfortable things. The easy gait of Buckskin very 

66 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 67 


likely had saved her up to this hour. But now the riding 

had commenced to tell upon her. Grateful indeed was she 

for the stretch of good country, for she feared bad trails 

“more than growing discomfort. Indeed, she rather gloried 
in her aches and pains. Despite a hot sun the air was cold. 

_And it grew to hold such dry sweet fragrance that Marian 
felt in it a kind of intoxication. By and by all the land- 
marks of stone dropped out of sight. “There appeared to be 
only undulating forest of green interspersed with patches of 
purple. Nevertheless there was a gradual ascent in size of 
trees and green of foliage and fragrance of sage. 

The sun climbed high and burned hot. A warm breeze, 
burdened with the sweet incense of the desert, blew in 
Marian’s face. She rode on, losing track of time. No 
weariness nor pangs could deaden her enthusiasm or inter- 
est, nor that haunting and recurring surety of the growing 
nearness of Nophaie. “There were live creatures to watch 
on this endless rolling plateau—dark blue jays that uttered 
singular piercing cries, and lizards that darted across the 
red bare earth, and hawks that sailed low, looking for prey, 
and rabbits that scurried away in the sage. 

It was hunger that reminded Marian of the passing hours 
and discovered to her that she had ridden until noon. Five 
hours of steady riding! At four miles an hour, she had in 
all covered twenty miles. She wondered if Buckskin was 
tired. He paced on, steadfast and leisurely, as if distance 
or time or sun were nothing to him. Marian had recourse 
to her sandwich and a bit of chocolate, and a drink from her 
canteen, therein to be rendered grateful and thoughtful for 
such simple things. It was the need of anything that made 
it precious. When before in her life had a dusty black- 
crusted biscuit seemed at once a pleasure and a blessing? 
How often had she no taste for chocolate! And as for 
water and its wonderful refreshing power she had known 
nothing. ‘There must be a time then for food, for drink, 
to mean a great deal. And if for these, why not for all 
things? 


68 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


So Marian rode on, pondering thoughts thus evolved. 
All at once she looked up to see a tremendous gash in the 
green-forested earth ahead. Withers, on foot, was waiting 
for her on the brink of a chasm. Far across Marian saw 
the opposite rim, a red-gold, bare-faced cliff, sheering down- 
ward. She was amazed. ‘The very earth seemed to have 
opened. As she rode up to Withers the chasm deepened to 
astonishing depths and still she could not see the bottom. 
The trader halted her before she got to the rim. 

“Pahute Canyon,” he said. “And it’s bad medicine. 
You’ve got to walk fast. Because the horses can’t go slow 
and I’ll have to lead them. Be sure to keep me in sight, 
otherwise you might lose the trail.” 

Marian dismounted, and handing her bridle to the trader 
she walked to the rim. A ghastly and naked glaring canyon 
yawned beneath her, tremendously wide and deep, bare of 
vegetation and blazing with its denuded and colored slopes. 

“White people don’t get to see Pahute Canyon,” said 
Withers, as he gazed from beside her. “It’s the wildest and 
most beautiful spot in the West. Reckon it'll be shore a 
spell before automobile tourists will drive in and out of 
her, eh?” 

He laughed grimly, with some note of gratification in his 
voice. Marian felt speech difficult. She was astounded. 
Pictures of grand Canyons could not convey any adequate 
conception of what was given by actual sight. 

“Wonderful! . . . Fearful!’ exclaimed Marian, feeling 
the strange drawing power of the depths. “Oh! it seems 
impossible even to—to slide down there.” 

“Well, let me get down a ways with the horses before 
you start, so you won’t roll on me,” said the trader. “Then 
you'd shore better come a-sliding, if you want to see Nophaie 
to-day. We've got to rustle to make the other rim before 
dark.” 

“Do—do you really believe—he’ll meet us?” queried 
Marian. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 69 


“Y’d gamble on it. . . . Be careful you don’t sprain your 
ankle on these loose stones.” 

With that Withers looped the bridle of Marian’s horse 
over the pommel, and started him down. Buckskin sent 
the stones cracking. ‘Then the trader followed, leading his 
own horse. Marian watched him for a moment. Assuredly 
they had to descend rapidly or lose their equilibrium. From 
farther down in the depths soared up the mellow voices of 
the Indians, evidently calling to the mules. Cracking of 
rocks and sliding rattles attested to the nature of that de- 
scent far below. 

Marian took one long thrilling gaze at the opposite rim 
where she had been assured Nophaie might meet her. It 
seemed a most fitting place for this meeting so fraught with 
significance for her. A green-fringed red-gold canyon rim, 
bold and beautiful, lofty and lonely as the craig of eagles— 
it was indeed an outlook wherefore the Indian might watch 
and wait. When Marian let her gaze slowly wander down 
from that rim she was struck with the stupendous height 
and massive formation of the canyon wall. Five miles dis- 
tant it was, yet it looked so high and sheer and immense 
that she could not repress a cry. If she had to climb that 
to see Nophaie this day! “The idea seemed absurd. She did 
not possess wings. How beyond comprehension were these 
Westerners, red men and white men, who conquered the 
obstacles of nature! 

Under the colossal wall lay a flat of yellow sand through 
which a bright winding stream, like a white thread, me- 
andered along shining under the sun. ‘The stark nudity of 
that canyon floor was relieved by several clumps of trees, 
richly green in foliage. It was a light green, proving these 
trees to be other than evergreens, and that summer had come 
down in those depths. 

Then Marian’s gaze returned to the declivity at her feet. 
The angle was forty-five degrees and the trail was a narrow 
line of loose rocks. Marian drew a deep breath and essayed 
the start. But, loath to take the plunge that would permit 


70 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


of no more gaze at length and breadth of this wonderful 
canyon, she halted to satisfy herself and make the spectacle 
hers forever. The declivity was almost straight down, 
rough, bowlder strewn, and far below apparently shelved 
out into a zone of colored earths, worn into corrugations. 
Northward the canyon widened into a vest amphitheater of 
exceedingly wild nature, with slopes and walls and benches 
and lines of strata and slides of rock, and numberless fan- 
shaped facets of clay, forming a mosaic of red, yellow, 
purple, gray, and violet, glaring bare and bright under the 
sun. 

Pahute Canyon had all that made the Valley of Gods an 
unforgettable memory picture, and moreover it had the 
strangeness of desolation and decay and death. Nature had 
its moods and here was ruthless despoilation of the face of 
the earth. Marian could not see any reason why the 
beautiful plateau of cedar and pifion should have been riven 
by this catastrophe of time. Yet what else could have un- 
covered those intense mineral colors, which at the very least 
had served to charm the Indian’s eye and furnish his paints. 

Reluctantly Marian turned away from this vista of 
canyon beauty. She had not taken half a dozen steps before 
she forgot all about the scenery. She became suddenly and 
violently aware of the treachery of loose rocks and of the 
hard nature of contact with them. ‘The first fall hurt her 
considerably, especially bruising her elbow; but it also hurt 
her vanity. She started anew, more carefully, and soon 
found herself wildly clutching at the air and balancing on 
rolling stones. ‘This time she saved herself. But she had 
a good scare. Caution would not do on this trail. She had 
to step lightly and swiftly, to be off a loose stone before it 
could turn with her. There was a thrill in this descent, and 
she began to grow reckless. Action liberated her spirit, and 
the faster she progressed the less she felt fear. At sight 
of the worst places, long slants of loose rock on a bed of 
soft earth, she halted long enough to select a line of rocks, 
and then she tripped down, faster and faster, growing more 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 71 


surefooted with practice. Once she saw the horses and 
Withers far below, working out over ridged red earth. As 


she went down, either the trail grew easier or she did better; 


and despite sundry knocks and several slips she began to 


get fun out of it. The race for her was to keep her balance. 
Down and down she zigzagged, growing out of breath. 


The slope of bowlders sheered out, affording less precipi- 


‘tous descent. Stones as large as houses lay everywhere. 


Presently Marian ran out of this bowlder zone upon red 
earth, still steep but affording safer and easier going. When 
she gazed upward, to see the red rim far above, she could 


‘scarcely believe her eyes. Little steps, but many of them, 
“made short work of distance! It was an achievement that 
‘she felt proud of as she ruefully rubbed her bruises. ‘Then 
‘she ran on down the easy stages over soft ground, soon to 


find Buckskin standing, bridle dragging in the trail. 
Withers waited a little way ahead. Marian mounted, then 


‘became conscious that excitement had kept her from realiz- 
‘ing both pain and fatigue. She rode on to meet Withers. 


“You’re no tenderfoot,” he said, gayly. 

“That’s all you know,” retorted Marian. “My feet 
appear to be intact, but I assure you I have some tender 
places.” 

“Did you slide some?” 

“I did ... and I could surely give pointers to some 


baseball players I’ve seen.” 


“Get on and ride now. Don’t be scared of the jump-off 
places in the trail below. Just hang on.” 

“Do you know, Mr. Withers, you have the most won- 
derful and easy solution to these trail problems? . . . Just 
hang on!” 

The trader laughed and turned his horse to the descent. 
Marian let Buckskin have free rein. The clay slopes below 
presented a strange variegated appearance and seemingly 
stood on end. Red succeeded to yellow, and yellow te 
violet, and that to pale chocolate. The horses slid down 
places so steep that Marian could scarcely keep her seat in 


Vie THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


the saddle. Some places Buckskin just slipped down. ‘These 
always meant a deep wash to cross, with a climb up the 
opposite side. Buckskin would not climb leisurely. He 
usually jumped the washes, and before Marian could estab- 
lish herself properly in the saddle again he was loping up 
the bank. The result was mortifying to her, and sometimes 
painful and not wholly without panic. Wither’s admoni- 
tion was faithfully acted upon by Marian, though not always 
without frantic and violent measures. Nevertheless, she 
had moments of thrill and pleasure, intermingled with the 
other sensations. It seemed she was descending into the 
very bowels of the earth. How deep this canyon! ‘Though 
early in the afternoon, the sun just tipped the western wall. 
Marian grew extremely tired just holding on, and was in- 
deed glad when the last incline led down to a sandy wash, 
that in turn opened out into the canyon floor. 

The stream which from above had appeared a thread of 
silver now proved to be a shallow and wide flow of roily 
water into which the horses hurried to drink. Withers got 
off, lay flat, and quenched his own thirst. The Indians 
had halted beside one of the clumps of green trees and were 
talking to another Indian who was on foot. 

“Take a rest in the shade of these cottonwoods,” sug- 
gested the trader. “You'll need all your strength climbing 
out. I see some Pahutes.”’ 

Not until Marian had ridden across the sandy flat almost 
to the cottonwoods did she observe other than the one In- 
dian. Then she saw an Indian woman with a child sitting 
somewhat beyond the clump of trees. Upon dismounting, 
Marian searched in her pockets for something to give the 
child, and found a piece of chocolate that had escaped her 
at lunch time. With this she approached the two. 

A fire was smoldering on the sand. Two cooking utensils 
sat near by, each with a remnant of food adhering to it. 
The woman was young and rather pretty, Marian thought. 
She wore a dark dress of some thick material, a bead neck- 
lace round her neck, and silver bracelets studded with tur- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 73 


quoises, very crude in design. ‘The child appeared to be a 
girl of about three years, tiny of form, with little dark, 
frightened face. The mother showed a shyness that sur- 
prised Marian. Indeed, there was something wild about 
these two natives in this canyon, especially in the black 
tangled hair of the little one. 

“Here,” said Marian, with a smile, proffering the choco- 
late. It amused her greatly to see that, despite an unmis- 
takable fright, the child flashed out a brown hand and 
snatched the candy. ‘Then she shrank closer to her mother, 
as if to hide behind her. Marian wanted to stand there 
and make known her friendliness, but out of kindness she 
turned away. Her presence was assuredly a source of fear 
to the child and of extreme embarrassment to the mother. 
From the shade of the cottonwoods Marian watched them 
with wondering interest and sympathy. No hogan or shack 
or habitation of any kind appeared to be in sight. But that 
this place was home for these Indians Marian had no doubt. 
She saw the flat ground was a cornfield, and that the Pahute 
man now talking to Withers carried a crude-handled shovel. 
What a stalwart Indian! He was young, and little there 
was about him to connect him with the dirty, slouching 
Indians Marian had seen at Mesa. As she looked he raised 
a strong, capable hand, pointing, with singular grace and 
expressiveness and slow meaning movement, toward a point 
above and beyond the canyon. It was a beautiful gesture. 

Withers came to Marian. 

“The Pahute whose tracks we saw crossed here early this 
morning. He’s shore to meet Nophaie. And he'll tell 
Nophaie the same he told this Indian here.” 

“What?” queried Marian, catching her breath. 

“Benow di cleash on the Pahute trail,” replied the trader, 
with a smile. ‘That may be strange to these Indians. But 
it wont be to Nophaie!” 

For answer Marian rose, averting her face, and went to 
her horse. As she reached for the bridle she saw her 


74 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


gloved hand tremble. Strong indeed was the hold she had 
on herself, but she could no longer trust it. 

Once more she fell in behind Withers and the Indians. 
They rode up the canyon to a break in the wall, where they 
turned upward. ‘The mouth of this gorge was narrow and 
jagged, opening back into the mountain of rock. To gaze 
up over the long jumble of broken cliff, far to the apex of 
that notch, made Marian’s blood rush back to her heart. 

Withers allowed her to ride for a long distance. A sandy 
bank ran under the right wall. Running water dashed 
over the rocks at the bottom of this gorge. Cottonwood 
trees, with foliage bright green and fresh, shaded part of 
the trail. Soon the rocks began to encroach upon that sandy 
strip. Marian saw the Indians above her on the left, toiling 
over the weathered slide. 

At a crossing of the stream Withers bade her dismount. 
He filled her canteen. Marian found the water cold and 
fine, free of acrid taste, and very satisfying. 

“You should drink oftener,” he said, as he watched her. 
“You'll dry up in this desert. Well, shore you've a climb 
ahead. Go slow. Be careful. Rest often. You can’t miss 
the trail.” 

With that he started up a ledge of soft blue rock, lead- 
ing Marian’s horse. His own was evidently in charge of one 
of the Indians. 

Marian gazed aloft, with something of shock and awe. 
She actually saw a wedge of blue sky, fitting into that red 
notch far above her. This gorge dug deeply back into the 
solid earth, and sides and floor were one bewildering jumble 
of rocks of every size and shape. She felt impelled to gaze 
upward, but the act was not conducive to encouragement. 

The climb she began with forced husbanding of her 
strength and a restraint to her eagerness. “Time enough, if 
she ever surmounted this frightful steep, to think of 
Nophaie! In spite of what Withers had said, Marian had 
little faith in her hopes. ‘To-morrow perhaps she would 
meet Nophaie. With eyes seeking out the tracks of the 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 75 


horses and marks of the trail, Marian slowly lent her 
energies to the ascent. ‘This trail must have been very old, 
she thought, judging from unmistakable ruts worn in ledges 
and places where avalanches and weathering slides had not 
covered it. At every convenient rock to sit or lean upon 
she rested. In half an hour she found the gorge opening 
wide, bowl shaped in the center, with slopes of broken rock 
leading up on all sides. Another half-hour apparently made 
little progress toward the distant rim, yet it brought her to 
solid rock. All below now appeared the slanted floor of 
this gorge, choked with the debris from the cliffs above. 

The trail kept to the left side and led up toward the 
face of an overhanging mountain of ledges, walls, juts, and 
corners, the ensemble of which seemed an unscalable preci- 
pice. Marian had climbed an hour, just to get started. 
Moreover, the character of the ascent changed. She be- 
came fronted by a succession of rocky steps, leading up to 
ledges that ran at right angles with the trail, and long 
narrow strips of rock standing out from the slope, all bare 
and smooth, treacherous in slant and too hard to catch 
the nails of her boots. How the horses ever climbed these 
slippery places was a mystery to Marian. But they had 
done so, for she savy the white scratches made by their iron 
shoes on the stone. 

More than once Marian heard the Indians and Withers 
working far above her. ‘The clang of a hammer rang out 
with keen metallic sound. She had observed a short-handled 
sledge on one of the mule-packs; now she understood its use 
on the trail. Withers was cracking rocks to roll them, and 
breaking the corners of jutting cliff to permit the mules to 
swing by with their packs. She welcomed these periods, for 
she had long rests, during which she fell into dreams. 

When she ascended to the points where trail work had 
been necessary she had all she could do to scramble up. And 
her hands helped as much as her feet. An endless stairway 
of steps in solid rock, manifold in character, with every 
conceivable angle and crack and sharp point and narrow 


76 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ledge. Mostly she feared the narrow ledges. For if she 
slipped on those it might mean the end of her. ‘Treading 
these, she dare not look over into the abyss, now assuming 
dreadful depths. 

This toil took Marian not only far upward, but far back 
into the gorge. The sky began to lighten. ‘The ragged red 
rim above seemed possibly attainable. Below her shadows of 
purple began to gather under the deep walls. Her watch 
told the hour of five. Marian feared she had made too 
leisurely a task of it, or had rested too long. Still, these had: 
been her orders from Withers. But the long climb all alone, 
the persistent exertion, the holding back of emotion, the 
whole time increasingly fraught with suspense had begun 
to weaken her. Resting long might have been advisable, 
but she could not do it. At every risky place she grew 
nervous and hurried. Once she lost her footing and fell, 
to slide hard against a projecting rock. ‘That hurt her. 
But the fright she suffered was worse than the hurt. For 
an instant she shook all over and her heart seemed to 
contract. Suppose she had slipped on one of the narrow 
ledges! 

“Oh! this is—new and—hard for me,” she panted. 
“Mr. Withers shouldn’t—have trusted me—to myself.” 

She realized she had been thrown upon her own resources. 
If she had not been equal to this climb Withers would 
never have left her. That moment alone there in the gorge, 
calling upon all her courage and reserve force, was one 
Marian felt to her depths. She scorned herself, but she 
recognized natural fear—an emotion she had never felt 
before in her life. She conquered it. And resolutely, but 
with trembling lips she had to bite to still, she began to 
climb again. 

Once more the character of the slope changed. ‘The solid 
gleaming granite gave way to soft red sandstone; and the 
long reaches of ledge and short steps to wide zigzags, the 
corners of which turned on promontories that sheered out 
over the depths. Marian found the going easier here, and 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 77 


if she had not been worn out she would have climbed well. 
As it was she dragged her weary feet, slow step after step, 
up the long slants of trail. 

Six o'clock by her watch and the gold of sunset on the 
far points of the rim! It seemed only a short climb now, 
from every turn, yet she did not get there. Nevertheless, 
weary and almost desperate as she was, the moment came 
when the strange glamour of that canyon stole over her. 
Perhaps the sunset hour with its gold gleams high, and 
purple shadows low, could be held accountable for this, or 
the sublimity of the heights she had attained. Wild realm 
of solitude! Here must the eagles clasp the crags with 
crooked claws. 

Slowly Marian toiled round an abrupt corner on a bare 
promontory. She paused, her eyes on the incredible steps 
she had ascended. Her breast heaved. A cold wind from 
above cooled her hot, uncovered brow. 

Suddenly a cry startled her. Piercingly high and strange 
it pealed down, and the echoes from the canyon walls magni- 
fied it and clapped it from cliff to cliff, until it died weirdly 
far below. 

With uplift of head Marian swept the rim above. An 
Indian stood silhouetted against the gold of sky. Slender 
and tall, motionless as a statue, he stood, a black figure in 
singular harmony with the wildness and nobility of that 
height. 

“Nophaie!” whispered Marian, with a leap of her heart. 

He waved his hand aloft, a slow gesture, significant and 
thrilling. Marian waved her sombrero in reply, and tried 
to call out, but just then her voice failed. Wheeling away 
with swift strides, shot through and through with a current 
of fire, she began the last few zigzags of that trail. 

Endless that last climb—unattainable the rim! Marian 
had overreached herself. Dizzy, half blind, with bursting 
heart she went on, upward, toward Nophaie. She saw him 
dimly as in a dream. He was coming. How strange the 


78 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


light! Night already? Vaguely the rim wall waved and 
rocked, grew darker. 


No, she had not fainted. Not for one second had she 
wholly lost sense of that close, hard contact, of an arm like 
iron around her, of being borne upward. “Then—one long 
moment—not clear, and again she felt the bursting throb 
of her heart—that pang in her breast. Her breath came 
and went in hurried little gasps. “The dimness left her eyes. 
She saw the gorge, a blue abyss, yawning down into the 
purple depths of Pahute Canyon. But she could not see 
anything else, for she was unable to move. Nophaie held 
her close, her cheek against his breast. 

“Benow di cleash!” 

““Nophaie!”’ 

‘There was no other greeting between them. He did not 
kiss her, and his close clasp slowly loosened. Marian rallied 
to the extent of being able to stand and she slipped away 
from him, still holding his hand. The Indian she had 
known as Lo Blandy had changed with the resigning of that 
white man’s name. Dark as bronze his fine face had grown, 
lean and older, graver, with long sloping lines of pain, not 
wholly hidden by his smile of welcome. His eyes, black and 
piercing with intense light, burned into hers. Unutterable 
love and joy shone in them. 

‘“‘Nophaie—you' have—changed,” she said, breathlessly. 

“So have you,” he replied. An indefinable difference in 
the tone of his voice struck Marian forcibly. It was lower, 
softer, with something liquid in its depth, something proving 
that his mother tongue had returned to detract from the 
white man’s. 

“How have—I—changed?’ murmured Marian. Her 
pent-up emotions had been eased, if not expressed. “The 
great longed-for moment had come, strangely unlike what 
she had expected, yet full and sweet. Slowly she was 
realizing. 

“Still Benow di cleash, but woman now, more than girl. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 79 


... It’s the same face I saw first at Cape May, only 
more beautiful, Marian.” 

“At least you’ve not changed Lo Blandy’s habit of 
flattery.” 

“To not call me that,’ he said, a somber look momentarily 
shadowing the gladness of his eyes. 

Marian hesitated. She was trying to realize him, to find 
him again as she had known and loved him. But it was 
not easy. 

“Must we get acquainted all over?” she asked, seriously. 

“You must.” 

“Very well, I am ready.” 

“Then you have come to work among my people?” 

“Of course,” replied Marian, simply. “I’ve come to do 
what you want me to.” 

Love and loyalty spoke unmistakably in her voice and 
in the gaze with which she met his piercing eyes. For an 
instant, then, Marian trembled in a consciousness of his 
gratitude, of his sudden fierce desire to gather her to his 
breast. She felt that, and saw it in the slight leap of 
his frame. 

“You are noble. You prove my faith. You save me 
from hate of the white race.”” Loosening her hands, he took 
a long stride toward the rim and gazed away across the 
purple canyon. 

Then Marian had her first real sight of him. ‘This 
appeared but a shadow of the magnificent form of the famous 
athlete, Lo Blandy. Thinned out, lean and hard he looked. 
He was dressed in worn corduroy and velveteen, with silver- 
buckled belt and brown moccasins. His black hair was 
drawn back and bound under a red band that encircled 
his head. ‘This garb, and the wonderful poise of his lofty 
figure against the background of wild canyon, removed him 
immeasureably from the man Marian had known as Lo 
Blandy. If there had ever been anything untrue or unreal 
about him, it was gone now. He satisfied some long un- 


80 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


known yearning in Marian’s heart. Even the suggestion of 
the tragic was not discordant. What was in his soul then? 

“I’m glad for what you think I am,” she said, stepping 
to his side. “For what you say I do... and I want to— 
to make you happy.” 

“Happy! Benow di cleash, this is the first happy moment 
I have ever lived—since I was a shepherd boy—Nophaie, 
down there with the sheep. Happy, because, Indian as I 
am, I know you love me.” 

“Yes, I—I love you, Nophaie,” she said, low, unsteadily. 
She wanted him to know again, at once. 

Hand in hand then they gazed out across the purpling 
depths and the gold-rimmed walls, to the vast heave of 
desert beyond. ‘The sun set while Marian watched and 
divined the strange exaltation of the moment. Incalculable 
were to be her blessings—the glory of loving, and forgetting 
self, the work that was to be hers, the knowledge of this 
lonely and beautiful land, seen through the eyes and soul 
of an Indian. Marian marveled now that she had ever 
hesitated or feared. 

“Come, we must go,” said Nophaie. “You are tired 
and hungry. Withers will make camp some miles from 
here.’ 

‘Withers!’ echoed Marian, with a little laugh. “I had 
forgotten him—and camp—and that I ever was hungry.” 

“Do you remember how you used to hate clams and like 
ice-cream, back in those Cape May days?” he asked. 

“Yes, and I haven’t changed in that respect,” she replied, 
gayly. “You do remember, don’t you? ... Well, sir, 
how about Jack Bailey?” 

“Your dancing lizard. I am jealous again—to hear you 
speak his name.” 

“Nophaie—after you went away there was no more 
cause. I have been true to you.” 

Marian felt, too, that she was ridiculously happy, and 
quite unlike herself in some wild desire to torment Nophaie 
and break his reserve. Always she had felt this Indian’s 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 81 


strength, and, woman-like, half resented it. She found him 
stranger than ever, harder to reach, in spite of the love in 
his eyes. 

His mustang was the largest Marian had seen, a wild 
shaggy animal of tan color. When it came to getting upon 
her own horse again she was not above a little feminine 
vanity in her hope to accomplish a graceful mount before 
Nophaie. But she made indeed a sorry one, for almost all 
her strength was gone. ‘Then they rode side by side through 
a fragrant level land of pifion and sage, with the afterglow 
of sunset lighting the western sky. “The romance of that 
moment seemed an enchantment of her dreams. Here was 
the gloaming hour, and a beautiful place of the desert 
wilderness, and the man she loved. His color and his race 
were no hindrances to her respect. She talked a little while 
of their last times together at the seashore, and then of 
friends of hers whom he knew, and lastly of her home, 
in which she had no longer seemed to fit happily. Nophaie 
listened without comment. When, however, she broached 
the subject of her arrival in the West, and her reception 
by the Withers, she found him communicative. Withers 
was a good man, a trader who helped the Indians and did 
not make his post a means to cheat them. Mrs. Withers 
was more to the Indians than any other white person had 
ever been. 

Presently the thickening twilight was pierced by the 
bright blaze of a campfire. And Marian followed the 
Indian down into a shallow ravine where a gleam of water 
reflected the blaze and the dark branches of cedar trees. 
Withers was busy at the supper tasks. 

“Well, here you are,” he called out, cheerily. “Marian, 
you’re a little white through your sunburn. Get down and 
come in. Did you climb up Pahute Canyon? Ha-ha! I 
kept an eye on you. . . . Nophaie, turn Buckskin loose and 
lend a hand here. Shore, we'll soon have this lady tender- 
foot comfortable and happy.” 

Marian thought she might be a good deal more com- 


82 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


fortable, but scarcely happier. It was about all she could 
do to drag herself to the seat Withers made for her. The 
warmth that stole over her, and the languor, would have 
ended in sleep but for the trader’s hearty call, “Come and 
get it.” 

“T’m afraid you'll have to bring it to me,” replied Marian. 
“Tf I get up I'll fall down.” 

Withers and Nophaie served her, and she discovered that 
exhaustion and physical pangs did not destroy hunger, or, 
in her case, keen enjoyment of the meal. Nophaie sat 
beside her, the light of the camp fire playing upon his face. 
The other two Indians came for their supper, soft-footed 
and slow, and they sat down to eat. 

After the meal Withers and Nophaie made short work 
of what tasks were left to do. ‘The two Indians appeared 
to mingle with the encircling darkness. For a moment the 
low, strange notes of their voices came back to Marian, and 
then were heard no more. Withers erected the little tent 
under the pifion near the fire, and then drawled, “Shore, I 
reckon that’s about all.” Then bidding Nophaie and 
Marian good night, he discreetly retired to his own bed 
under an adjoining pifon. The night silence settled down 
upon the camp, so lonely and sweet, so strangely full for 
Marian, that she was loath to break it. She watched 
Nophaie. In the flickering light his face seemed impassively 
sad, a bronze mask molded in the mood of sorrow. From 
time to time he would lift his face and turn his dark gaze 
upon Marian. ‘Then she thrilled, and felt a warmth of 
gladness wave over her. 

“Will you stay with us to-night?” she asked, at last. 

“No. I will ride back to my hogan,” he said. 

Visit itanen 

“For you, yes. I will ride back to meet you in the 
morning.” 

“Ts your—your home at Oljato?” 

“No. Oljato is down in the lowland. Some of my 
people live there.” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 83 


“People? You mean relatives?” 

He replied in the negative, and went on to tell of his 
only living kin. And he fell to talking of himself—how he 
had chosen this wildest and loneliest part of the reservation 
because he wanted to be far away from white people. It 
was a custom of the tribe for the women to own the sheep, 
but he had acquired a small flock. He owned a few mus- 
tangs. He was the poorest Indian he knew. He did not pos- 
sess even a saddle or a gun. His means of livelihood was the 
selling of wool and hides, and working for some of the 
rich Indians in that section. He had taught them how 
much better corn would grow in plowed land. He built 
dams to hold the spring freshets from the melting snows and 
thus conserve water for the long period of drought. What 
his tribe needed most was to learn ways that were better 
than theirs. But they were slow to change. They had to 
see results. And therefore he did not find a great deal 
of work which was remunerative. 

It had never occurred to Marian that Nophaie might be 
poor. She remembered him as the famous athlete who had 
been highly salaried at Cape May. Yet she might have 
guessed it. The white people had taught him to earn 
money in some of their pursuits, which he had renounced. 

Poverty had always seemed a hideous condition. Marian 
had never known real luxury and did not want it, but she 
had never been in need of the simple and necessary things 
of life. Perhaps to the Indian poverty was nothing. ‘The 
pifons might be his room and warmth, the sage-covered 
earth his bed, the sheep his sustenance. Marian hesitated 
to voice her sympathy and perplexity. She could help 
Nophaie. But how? Maybe he did not want more sheep, 
more horses, more clothes and blankets, a gun and a saddle. 
Marian felt that she must go slowly. Nophaie’s simplicity 
was striking and it was easy for her to see that he had not 
been well fed. His lean face and his lean form were proofs 
of that. Had she ever dined at the Bellevue-Stratford 
Hotel with this very Indian? Incredible! Yet no more 


84 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


incredible than this hour on the lonely desert, with a 
flickering camp fire lighting Nophaie’s dark face! How 
much stranger was real life than the fiction of dreams! 

After a long silence, which Marian yearned to break, but 
could not, Nophaie rose and touched her hair with his 
hand. 

“Benow di cleash, your eyes are heavy,” he said. “You 
must sleep. But I shall lie awake. I will start back with 
the sunrise. Good night.” 

Would he bend to kiss her? She had treasured and re- 
membered his kisses, few as they had been. But he moved 
away, silently, his tall form dark against the pale starlit 
sky, and vanished from her sight. 

Long Marian sat there, fighting sleep, fighting to stay 
awake to think of this place and Nophaie and her love, and 
what must be the outcome. Fatality hovered there in the 
night shadow. In Nophaie’s look and voice, and the condi- 
tion he confessed, she had read catastrophe for the Indian. 
Yet Marian could not be unhappy. She divined her power 
to give; and that Nophaie, stoic, nailed to his Indian mar- 
tyrdom, would not wholly miss the blessedness and glory 
of love. 

Marian repaired to the little tent and its bed of blankets. 
How good they felt! What a wonderful relief to stretch ~ 
out and lie still! Sleep soon must deaden the throbbing 
of pulse, the aching of muscle, the burn of cheek. But 
would not her thoughts of Nophaie persist even in her 
dreams? Shadows of branches cast by the firelight moved 
on the walls of her tent, weird and strange. A low wind 
rose to moan in the pifions. ‘The desert seemed to brood 
over her. 


} 


7 


: 


) 


CHARTER. Vit 


ERS awakening next morning Marian realized how 
dearly she must pay for her horseback rides and climbs 


on foot. Breakfast had to be kept waiting for her, and 


| 
\ 
1 
] 
} 
: 
i 


Withers expressed both solicitude and amusement. 


“T may look funny, but I don’t feel funny,’ complained 
Marian, with a rueful face. ‘‘How will I ever live through 
this trip? . . . Oh-h-h! those awful trails straight down 


and up!” 


“We'll not go back the Pahute Canyon,” replied Withers. 
“Now you eat all you can and walk around some. You'll 
find you feel better.” 

Marian was so sore and stiff that she had not the slightest 
faith in what he said, yet upon following his advice she 
found he had spoken truly. Nevertheless, when she came 


to mount Buckskin she had an ordeal that left her smart- - 


ing with pain. “There was nothing to do but endure until 


gradually the exercise warmed her blood and eased her 


pangs. “Then she began again to have interest in her sur- 


| roundings. 


The slow heave of pifon and cedar forest reached its 


highest ridge aiter perhaps an hour of riding. ‘The sun 


was then high, and it lighted an enormous country of purple 
sage and clumps of pifions and yellow mounds of rock, 


‘now clear to Marian’s gaze. How strong the sweet scent 
of sage! And seemingly the whole quarter of the west 
swelled and bulged into a superb mountain, rising to a 


dome of black timber and white snow. Away to the north- 


ward rose dim, faint outline of a red-walled desert chaos. 


The splendid spectacle, the fragrance of sage, the cold air, 


so untainted, the marvelous purple of the undulating desert, 


85 


86 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


here no longer dominated by naked expanse of rock or forest 
green—these stirred in Marian the emotion of yesterday. 
How wild and free! ‘This upland appeared verdant, a 
beautiful surprise of the stark and naked desert. “The same 
loneliness and solitude reigned over it, the same intense and 
all-pervading light of sun, the same mystery of distance, 
the same incomprehensible magic of nature. 

Withers waited for her, and as she rode abreast of his 
position he pointed far down and across the purple plain. 

“Nophaie is riding to meet us,” he said. ‘Show me how 
good eyes you have.” 

Eagerly Marian strained her gaze in the direction he was 
pointing, but she could not see anything that resembled a 
horse and rider. 

“Oh, I can’t see him!” she cried. 

“Farther to the left. There, in line with that clay- 
colored bluff under the mountain. Keep your eye close down 
along the sage .... Two moving dots, one white—one 
black.” 

“Yes! Yes! I see those dots. But how tiny! Can 
they be horses?” 

“Shore they can. Nophaie is riding the black and driv- 
ing the white. I'll bet there’s a present for you. Nophaie 
has one fine mustang, I’ve been told. But he never rode it 
into the post.” 

“For me! You think so? That would be wonderful. 
Oh, will I be able to ride it?” 

“Some of these Pahute ponies are well broken and gentle. 
I don’t think Nophaie would give you anything else.” 

Marian had use for her eyes from that moment on. She 
rode with gaze searching for the moving dots. Sometimes 
she lost them and had difficulty in finding them again. But 
gradually they grew larger and larger until they assumed 
the forms of horses, loping gracefully across the sage, lending 
wild and beautiful life to that lonely desert. “The time came 
when she clearly saw Nophaie, and after that when she 
recognized him. ‘Then she made the astonishing discovery 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 87 


that the white mustang had a long black mane and tail, 
flying in the breeze. At closer view Marian was sure 
she had never seen any horse so beautiful. At sight of the 
Indians and the mules he halted, standing on a ridge, head 
up, mane flying. “Then Nophaie caught up with him and 
drove him down into the trail, where he swerved to go 
round the mules. He pranced and tossed his head and 
whistled. His hoofs rang like bells on the stones. Marian 
now saw that he was almost pure white, of medium build, 
and well set up, with black mane and tail reaching almost 
to the ground. ‘These alone would have made any horse 
beautiful. It appeared presently that his wildness was only 
a spirit of youth and temper, for he evinced an inclination 
to trot along with the other horses. Nophaie’s mount, 
however, was a really wild creature, a black, shaggy stal- 


lion, powerfully built, but ungainly, that had a halter round 
his nose as well as bridle. 


Nophaie’s greeting to Marian was in his Indian language, 
the meaning of which was unmistakable. His smile and 
handclasp would have been enough to make her happy. 


Then, indicating the white mustang, he said. “I’ve brought 
you one of my ponies. He’s Pahute, and the gentlest and 


4 





best gaited horse I’ve seen out here.” 
“Oh, thank you, Nophaie! How beautiful he is! You 


| are very kind indeed. . .. Gentlest, did you say? He 
looks as if he’d jump right over the moon.” 


“He wants to run, and he’s lively, but you can ride him,” 


replied Nophaie. ‘“Would you like to try him now?” 


“I'd love to, but, Nophaie, I—well—it’s just all I can 
do to stay on this horse at the present moment. Perhaps 


to-morrow I will feel up to it. . . . How far to your camp, 
_ Nophaie ?” 


“TI never think of distance as miles. Riding at this gait, 


we'll get there at noon. Suppose we lope ahead. ‘That 


will rest you.” 
“Lope! ... Withers says ‘just hang on’ and now you 


88 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


say lope. Very well. I consign my poor aching bones to 
your machinations.” 

A touch and word from her were all Buckskin needed. 
Indeed, he seemed to be both surprised and pleased. He 
broke into a long lope that Marian found, to her amaze, 
a most agreeable change of gait and altogether delightful 
motion. It changed everything—her sensations, the scenery, 
the colors and smells, the feel of the wind. Nophaie loped 
beside her, outside of the trail, through the sage. How 
sweet to Marian the cool fragrance blowing hard in her 
face! Her blood began to race, her nerves to tingle. Al- 
ways she had loved to go fast, to be in action, to feel her 
own spirit and muscle in dominance of the moment. ‘This 
was beyond her wildest dreams. She could ride. She really 
had not believed it. On and on they loped, each horse 
gradually warming to the work, and at last settling down 
to a steady swinging gait that covered ground swiftly. 
Marian imagined there could be no place in the world more 
beautiful than this boundless sage-plain, purple in color 
and heavy with its dry, sweet tang, lonely and wild, with 
the great mountain to the fore, and away across the distance 
the strange, calling, vast and naked desert of rock. 

That ride intoxicated Marian. When at the end of 
three or four miles Nophaie called for her to pull Buckskin 
to a walk she found herself breathless, utterly reckless, and 
full of wild longings to race on and on, to capture this new 
exquisite joy just liberated, to range the desert and forget 
the world. ‘ 

“Oh!—splendid!”’ she cried. ‘‘I—never knew—what a 
ride—could be. . . . You must race—with me.’ 

“Wait till you ae on your white pony to-morrow. He | 
will run like the wind.” : 

They slowed to a walk and rode side by side. Marian | 
awoke to the realization of a stinging happiness. Could | 
it last? What was the cause? Herself, Nophaie, their 
love—these did not account wholly for that new significance 


of life. ‘Then she remembered what Withers had said—_ 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 89 


that places had more to do with happiness than people. 
What did he mean by that? She told Nophaie this remark 
of the trader’s and asked for an explanation. 

Nophaie did not reply for some moments. ‘People are 
false. Human nature is imperfect. Places are true. Na- 
ture itself is evolution—an inexorable working for per- 
fection.” 

His reply made Marian thoughtful. How strange, com- 
ing from an Indian! For a moment she had forgotten that 
Nophaie had been almost as famous for his scholarships in 
college as for his athletic prowess. She must learn from 
him and in that learning perhaps realize the strange com- 
bination of his Indian nature developed by the white man’s 
intellect. Could any such training be other than tragic? 
Marian divined what she had not knowledge to explain. 

They rode on across the undulating sea of purple, for 
a while at a walk, talking, and then breaking again into a 
lope, and from that to slower progress once more. For 
Marian time ceased to exist. 

The baa-baa of sheep suddenly pierced the air. 

“My flock,” replied Nophaie, answering Marian’s quick 
look. 

“Where?” she asked, eagerly. 

“In the cedars there. . . . Benow di cleash, here is the 
home of Nophaie.”’ 

Marian’s keen eyes swept the half-circle of country indi- 
cated by Nophaie’s slow impressive gesture. She saw that 
they had ridden down miles and miles of gentle slope, which 
ended in a vale marked by richer luxuriance and purple of 
the sage, by clumps of beautiful cedar trees, and by isolated 
red and yellow mounds of rock. Above loomed the great 
mountain, now close enough to dominate and protect. A 
bare rock-floored stream bed meandered through the vale, 
with crystal water gleaming on smooth inclines and tinkling 
over little falls. A column of blue smoke rose from among 
the cedars. Marian could smell that smoke, and it brought 
rushing to memory the delight she always had in burning 


go THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


autumn leaves. A brooding summer solitude and peace 
hung over this vale. 

Nophaie led Marian in among the cedars. They were 
not numerous enough to make a forest, yet they furnished 
all that was needful to make this spot absolutely perfect 
in Marian’s eyes. For her camp site Nophaie chose a very 
large cedar, with branches spreading over a little sliding fall 
and pool in the stream. ‘The rock floor of the stream ap- 
peared to be solid as granite and as smooth as glass. ‘The 
ground under the cedar was soft and brown and fragrant. 
Indian paint-brush, with its vermilion hue vied with white 
and purple primroses. 

“Here I have thought of you many and many an hour, 
and dreamed, and tried to pray,” said Nophaie. ‘We will 
put your tent here, and your bed here, for you must sleep 
in the open, unless it rains. . . . Come now, rest a while— 
then you can meet Maahesenie, my relative. You will see 
my hogan and my sheep.” 

Nophaie helped her out of the saddle, a service she wel- 
comed, for she was very near exhaustion again; and he 
arranged a comfortable seat for her in the shade of the old 
cedar with the beautiful pool of amber water at her feet. 

“Cold snow water from Nothsis Ahn, my Mountain of 
Light,” he said. 

“Nophaie, fill my canteen,” she replied. ‘Oh, how thirsty 
I am!” 

When she had drunk deep of that pure water, so cold 
it had to be taken slowly, she understood another meaning 
of the desert. 

Nophaie unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. A 
shaggy gray animal came bounding to him. Marian thought 
it a wolf, but it was a dog. 

“Here’s Taddy, my shepherd—and he looks like the 
Taddy of my boyhood. . . . T'addy, go to Benow di cleash.” 

Marian held out her hand and called ‘“Taddy.” He ad- 
vanced slowly, obediently, and without fear or distrust. 
But in the pale strange eyes shone a watchful, inquisitive 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 91 


light. This dog was like the soft-footed canines Marian 
had feared at the post. But he permitted her hand to pat 
his fine head. Marian had been used to vicious dogs and 
fawning dogs and jealous dogs, all of which were as unlike 
Taddy as if he had really been a wolf. He was as curious 
about Marian as she was about him, and vastly less inclined 
to friendliness. 

Nophaie came to look down upon Marian, with some- 
thing soft and glad in his dark eyes. 

“Benow di cleash to see you here—to have you come 
for my sake!’’ he exclaimed, with emotion he had not shown 
before. 

“Nophaie, it is as good for me as for you,” replied 
Marian. 

“That could not be,” he replied, with grave smile. “Your 
soul is not in danger.” 

““Nophaie!” she exclaimed. 

But he offered no word in explanation of his strange 
speech, and, bidding her rest, he strode away, with the dog 
beside him. Marian was left alone. ‘The shade was cool, 
making it needful to cover herself with her coat. A drowsy 
buzz of bees or other insects mingled with the murmuring 
and dreamy low song of the stream. ‘They seemed to lull 
her thoughts and burden her eyelids. She fell asleep. 
Upon awakening, it seemed to her a long time had lapsed, 
for she felt wonderfully rested. But she could not have slept 
long. Withers and the Indians had arrived with the pack 
outfit and were making camp some little distance away. It 
was Nophaie who brought her duffle bag and roll of bed- 
ding. Withers followed, carrying tent and ax. 

“Shore you look comfortable,” was the trader’s greeting. 
“Isn’t this sage-cedar country great? I’ve never seen any 
part of the desert to equal this.” 

“A land where it is always afternoon,” interposed 
Nophaie, with his eyes on Marian. 

“Quote all the poetry you want to,” she said, languidly. 
“I refuse to be surprised by you again.” 


92 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


The two men erected the tent on one side of Marian, 
and spread the canvas roll with the blankets on the other. 

“Young lady, you'll see the stars and get your nose 
nipped to-night,” observed Withers. 

““Nipped? By stars—or what?” she queried. 

“By frost,” he returned. Then seriously he continued: 
“I love this purple sage upland. I’ve come here often, 
though not by the Pahute trail. You wouldn’t dream this 
fine open country jumps off over here—down into the most 
terrible broken desert. Rocks—canyons that’re impassable.” 

“Yes, I would. I saw where,” replied Marian. 

“Well, I’m going to ride over here some ten miles south, 
round the corner of the mountain where an old Pahute lives,” 
continued Withers. “I buy a good deal from him, and he 
buys from me. He’s rich and an old scoundrel. He salts 
his wool. Now only few Indians do that.” 

“Salts his wool? What does that mean?” 

“He spreads his wool out in the sun and covers it with 
salt. ‘That salt draws moisture from the air and melts 
into the wool, making it almost twice as heavy.” 

“Withers, I’ve persuaded Etenia not to do that any 
more,’ spoke up Nophaie. 

“You have! Well, by golly! I’m shore glad, as much 
for Etenia’s sake as mine. I like him. MHe’s an industrious, 
intelligent Indian. The blankets of his women are the best 
we buy. Nophaie, he’s wealthy. I should think he would 
go shares with you in some sheep deal.” 

“Yes, he would,” replied Nophaie, ‘‘but he wanted me to 
marry his daughter, and when I refused he grew very angry. 
Said I had Indian body and white-man mind.” 

‘““‘Humph! that’s pretty serious,” returned Withers, soberly, 
and, shouldering his ax, he turned toward his camp. 

“Is it serious, Nophaie?” asked Marian. 

“I’m afraid so—for me.” | 

“Why? Because you can’t—can’t marry or become what 
this Indian thinks.” 

“Both. You see my position is hard.. My people are 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 93 


proud that I have renounced the white man. But they 
expect me to fall at once into their ways. I tried. I have 
failed in many things.” 

Thought-provoking indeed were these words to Marian, 
and she began to get a glimpse of the problem before her. 

“T’m rested now,” she said, rising. ‘“Take me to see your 
hogan and Maah—whatever you called him.” 

Beyond the stream some hundred or more yards, in an 
open space of higher ground, stood a large beehive-shaped 
mound of red earth with a column of blue smoke rising 
from the center of its round roof. At nearer view Marian 
saw that the earth had been plastered thickly over a frame- 
work of wood. ‘The open door faced the east. 

Nophaie spoke to her in his Indian tongue—something 
she sensed to be ceremonious and indicative of the sacred- 
ness of his act in bidding her enter. She stooped to go in. 
A smoldering fire occupied the center of this habitation 
called a hogan, and the smoke from it seemed to float round 
and round, to drift at last up through the hole in the roof. 
This roof was a marvel of ingenuity and skill, being con- 
structed of heavy trunks of cedars planted in the ground, 
and affording support for the many thick branches that 
formed a concave network to hold the covering of red earth. 
How substantial and strong this Indian edifice! Some- 
thing about it impressed Marian with a significance of its 
long adoption by the tribe. 

A few iron and stone utensils lay scattered beside the 
fire. A haunch of meat hung from one of the posts, and be- 
side it on the ground lay a sack of flour, with some boxes 
and tins that evidently contained food supplies. Besides 
these there were two beds in the hogan, one on either side 
of the fire, close to the wall. 

“Which bed is yours?” asked Marian, unable to restrain 
her curiosity. 

“Here,” said Nophaie. 

His action designated an Indian blanket and a sheepskin 
with woolly side uppermost. Obviously the former was 


94 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nophaie’s coverlet, and the latter was his mattress. Marian 
thought of the hard bed of the Spartans. So Nophaie slept 
there! She forced her gaze to search farther, to the end 
that she saw an old coat, a leather pouch studded with silver 
buttons, and a worn hunting knife. These then were 
Nophaie’s possessions and this was his home. Suddenly 
Marian’s eyes blurred and smarted. Was that because of 
the acrid wood smoke and the heavy pungent odor? What- 
ever the causes, Marian realized she could not have remained 
there for five minutes longer. Nor could she utter one word 
as to her feelings or impressions. 

“I sleep out under the cedar often, but Maahesenie 
doesn’t like that,” said Nophaie. 

“Let me see your sheep,” rejoined Marian. 

She did not speak, nor did Nophaie, while they were 
threading a way through the tall sagebrush, the long light- 
green, purple-tinted sprigs of which reached to her shoulder. 
She stripped a tiny branch and, crushing the soft leaves, 
she pressed them to her lips and nostrils. How bitter the 
taste—how like a drug the intoxicating pungency of frag- 
rance! She saw purple berries on the cedar trees, and a 
golden dust-like powder upon the foliage. “Then she heard 
the baa of sheep and bleat of lambs. 

Soon Marian emerged from the zone of cedars into the 
open sage, and here her sight was charmed by a flock of 
sheep and goats, and many lambs. If Nophaie had only a 
small flock, Marian wondered what a large one would be. 
No less than several hundred was her calculation of their 
number. Most of them were white, and many were black, 
and some were brown. ‘The lambs all appeared as fleecy 
white as wool could be. ‘They played round Marian’s feet 
and had no fear of her. The baaing and bleating were 
incessant and somehow struck pleasantly upon Marian’s 
ear. 

Then she observed another Indian, tall and gaunt, with 
stoop of shoulders and iron-gray hair. He folded a thin 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 95 


blanket round him as he walked toward her. What a rec- 
ord of life was his face! Years and storms of the desert! 

*“‘Maahesenie—Benow di cleash,” said Nophaie. 

“How do?” returned the Indian, extending a brown 
hand to Marian. 

She shook hands with him and greeted him, not, how- 
ever, without hesitation over the pronunciation of his name. 

“White girl come far?” he asked, with slow curving arm 
extended toward the east. His English was intelligible. 

“Yes, very far,” replied Marian. 

“Saddle heap hard seat—huh ?” he queried, with a twinkle 
in his eyes. 

Marian nodded and laughed her affirmation. What sharp 
sight these Indians had! From a distance this Maahesenie 
had observed in her walk the evident tell-tale truth of 
how the saddle had punished her. Moreover, besides keen 
eyes he also had a keen sense of humor. This old Indian was 
laughing at her. But when he addressed Nophaie it was 
with dignity and gravity, and his gestures made known to 
Marian the fact that he was talking about her. When he 
ended Nophaie led her back toward the camp. 

“What did he say about me?” she asked, very curious. 

“TI didn’t get it all. You see, my mother tongue comes 
back slowly to me. But I got enough to make you vain. 
He said, ‘Eyes of the sky and hair of the sun.” Then some- 
thing about your skin being like a sago lily.” 

“Well, bless him!” exclaimed Marian, in delighted sur- 
prise. ‘And what’s a sago lily?” 

“Most beautiful of desert flowers. They grow in the 
deep canyons.” 


Marian slept again for a couple of hours, and awoke to 
feel somewhat eased of pangs and weariness. The after- 
noon was far spent, waning in a solemn glory of light and 
peace. Marian listened to the hum of bees and the murmur 
of water. Gentle stream and colorful sage! The cruelty 
of nature and life did not seem to abide in them, yet a few 


96 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


moments of sharp-eyed scrutiny made known to her tiny 
denizens of both, seeking to destroy. Mystery of mysteries 
that living creatures must prey upon other living creatures! 
Where was God in such nature? If species preyed upon 
species, why not man upon man? 

“T declare,’ murmured Marian, suddenly aghast at her 
thoughts, “this desert is giving me the queerest ideas.” 

Withers called her to an early supper. Nophaie sat with 
her, and the other Indians sat opposite. All of them did 
justice to the extraordinary meal served by the trader. 

“Well,” he said, “my plan is to eat all the grub quick 
at the beginning of a hard trip. ‘That builds up strength 
to finish.” 

After supper Nophaie walked with Marian, singularly 
thoughtful and sad. Suddenly he pointed to a distant cone- 
shaped mound of stone that appeared to have a monument 
on its summit. 

“I want you to climb there with me—to-night or to- 
morrow, he said. 

“Take me now,” she replied. “But why there particu- 
larly?” 

“I want you to see my Marching Rocks from there— 
and my Mountain of Light.” 

“‘Nophaie—you want me to climb there—just because 
they are beautiful?’ she queried, keen to divine his unex- 
pressed thought. 

“No. But because seen from that height they give me 
strength.” 

“Strength?” she echoed. “For what—do you need 
strength now?” 

He seemed to shudder and shrink, with a strange, faint 
vibrant convulsion not natural to him. 

“To tell you my trouble!’ 

Nophaie’s somber gaze, and the pathos and solemnity of 
his voice, further augmented Marian’s fears and prepared 
her for catastrophe. His trouble must become hers. How 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 97 


singular his desire for her to climb to this particular height 
so that he could unburden himself! ‘Their silent walk 
through the sage, and slow climb up a hill of smooth bare 
stone, gave Marian time to fortify herself against disaster 
of her hopes. She also anticipated some extraordinary spec- 
tacle from the summit of this hill. “The slope was steep, 
and ascent dificult. Looked at from their camp, it had not 
appeared nearly so high as it actually was. ‘They climbed 
from the eastern side, walking in long zigzag slants, and rest- 
ing often. Near the summit there was a depression, the 
upper side of which terminated in the point of stone that 
supported the monument. ‘This pyramid of rocks stood 
eight or ten feet high, and crude as it was it had some 
semblance of symmetry and dignity. It meant something 
more than a landmark to passing Indians. 

“Who built it?” asked Marian. 

“Men of my tribe,” replied Nophaie. 

“What does it mean?” 

“It signifies a place for prayer. Indians climb here to 
pray. Never unless they have something to pray for.” 

“Does each Indian make his own prayer?” 

“No. ‘There are many prayers, but they are those used 
by our forefathers.” 

“Have you prayed here?” asked Marian, speaking low. 

“Many times,” replied Nophaie. 

“Are you going to pray—now?” 

“Yes, to my Marching Rocks and to my Mountain of 
Light and to the Blue Wind.” 

“Will you let me hear your prayers?” 

“Indeed, I want you to!” 

With that Nophaie again took Marian by the hand and 
led her up the remaining few steps to the summit of this 
stone hill which had obstructed the view. 

“Look, Benow di cleash,’’ he said. 

Marian did as she was bidden, suddenly to become silent 
and thrilled, motionless as the monument upon which she 


98 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


rested a reverent hand. As she gazed Nophaie began his 
prayer. 


“Marching beautiful Rocks, 

Part red and part white, 

With light falling on you from the sky. 
The wonderful light! 

I give you this; 

This a prayer for you. 

On this day make my foot well, 

Make my leg well, 

Make my body well, 

Make my face well, 

Make my soul well. 

On this day let me rise from my bed, 
Let me walk straight, 

Let me not have fever, 

Let it be well before me, 

Let all that I see be well, 

Let me believe now all is well.” 


Marian listened as she gazed, and felt that forever on her 
memory would be limned the splendor and the strange 
phenomenon of the apparent life of this weird land of 
Marching Rocks, 

Below Marian a cedared plateau, gray with grass and 
sage, led eastward toward bare mounds of rock, isolated 
and strangely set, with semblance to great prehistoric beasts. 
Scattered and striking they led on over the wide green 
plain, round and bare and huge, all seeming to move for- 
ward, to march on, to be impelled, to be endowed with 
mighty and majestic life. Marching Rocks! Van of the 
army of naked earth, vast riven mass of rock, rising and 
spreading from north to south, marching down from afar, 
driven by the dim slopes and immense heave of mountains! 

“Benow di cleash, the sculptor who carved those March- 
ing Rocks is the wind,” said Nophaie. “Listen to our 
prayer:” 


: 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 99 


“Blue wind, beautiful chieftess, 

Send out a rainbow by which let me walk. 
Blue clouds, blue clouds, 

With your shoes let me walk. 

Blue clouds, with your leggings make me walk; 
Blue clouds, with your shirt let me walk; 
Blue clouds, with your hat let me walk; 
Blue clouds, make it dark behind me; 
Blue wind, make it light before me; 
Earth Woman let it rain much for me, 
By which let the green corn ripen. 

Make all peaceful with me.” 


Then Nophaie bade Marian sit down and lean against 
him beside the monument. 

“We will watch the sun set over the desert,” he added. 
“Sunset—the fulfilment, the glory, the end of the Indian’s 
day! . . . White people do not rise to see the breaking of 
the morning light. And they do not care to watch the de- 
clining sun. But for Indians these hours are rituals.” 

To the west, where Nophaie directed Marian’s rapt gaze, 
the scale grew grand, a supreme manifestation of nature’s 
sculpturing. [he purple shadows now began to define the 
canyons and lift the wavy knolls of red rock. From out 
that thick sunset haze of the direct west swept majestic 
escarpments, level and dark, to overshadow the world of 
carved and graven marching rocks. Farther around, beyond 
the blazing center of the west, began the black jagged uplift 
of Nophaie’s Mountain of Light. It sheered up to a round, 
white-patched, black-fringed dome. The pure snow and 
lofty pine held dominion there. 

Every moment the spectacle changed, and out over 
the wasteland there was chaos of light and color. ‘The pur- 
ple shadows turned to black; the red and yellow grew less 
intense. Vast rays of light slanted down from the broken 
sunset of clouds. Marian’s emotion increased with the grow- 
ing transformation. Before her eyes stretched a belt of naked 
earth, two hundred miles long and one hundred wide, curv- 


1oo «©THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ing from east to west. No human sight was adequate to 
grasp its tremendousness and its meaning. Eye of eagle 
or condor, most delicate and powerful of all organs of 
vision, must be limited here. “There was no movement of 
anything—only the illusion of the Marching Rocks; no 
sound, nothing but the stark upflung nakedness of the earth, 
beyond comprehension to the human mind, exalting to the 
soul. A world of naked rock, and cedar, and sage for the 
Indian! Marian cried out in her heart in pity for the In- 
dians that eventually must be driven from this world, so 
still, so solemn, so awful, yet a refuge and an abode of 
life. 

The dark walls of granite grew dusky red; the marching 
rocks moved like mammoths, mystic evidence of the ages. 
Distance was made clear by the lifting of haze from the 
canyoned shadows, by the last piercing light of the sun. 
It seemed that a million facets of chiseled rock caught this 
dying glow of sunset and reflected it, throwing the marvel 
of light upon the clouds. The shadows lengthened and 
widened and deepened. Marian’s sense of color and pro- 
portion grew magnified or dwarfed, she could not tell 
which. ‘Thousands of rock ridges, facing the sun, marched 
down to meet it. 

The air grew chill. Farthest away across the riven rock 
a grayness blotted out the horizon. ‘The splendid landmarks 
seemed to be receding, retreating, dying with the sunset. 
Every moment became more solemn than that preceding. It 
was a place not meant for white man. Yet how beautiful! 
The great light was fading. Over most of the rocky area 
the strange gray shadow encroached while Marian gazed; 
only to the eastward did the bright gleams of sunlight fall 
upon the highest faces of the Marching Rocks. Again these 
rays shot slanting from out of rifts in the clouds, growing 
strong and glorious, strangely lighting for the moment the 
horizon peaks of white. ‘Then all that far east, as had the 
north, paled and darkened. It was a blight. It spread 
toward the sunset. Low down ruddy gleams suddenly 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN  tro1 


caught the van of the Marching Rocks. But that beauty 
of radiance was ephemeral. ‘The ball of half-clouded fire 
tipped the slope of Nothsis Ahn, and the chasms became 
veiled in haze of rose. Nophaie’s mountain grew dark and 
clear against the steel-blue sky. All the upland in its shadow 
seemed bathed in ethereal light. Strange change! How 
cold! ‘The sun was sinking. ‘The desert darkened. Only 
a disk of the sun remained, still overpowering, still master 
of the day. It was sinking farther. The day was nearly 
done. How rosy the tips of the stone hills! Then the 
radiant disk of white fire vanished. A golden glow on 
cloud and sky marked the place where the sun had gone 
down. ‘The earth of naked stone seemed to gather power, 
to rise, to come out clear and cold, to reach for the en- 


_ croaching twilight. 


Marian turned to Nophaie and said: “I have seen. I 
feel all you feel. . . . Now tell me your trouble.” 

Nophaie rose, lifting her with him, and towered over her, 
his face as she had never beheld it. Mystery and grief, age 


and strength, came out in the bronzed lineaments; and his 


eyes were terrible. Marian imagined she saw the soul of 


the Indian. 


' 


“T am an infidel!’ he said, hoarsely. 
The shock of intense surprise sustained by Marian pre- 


cluded her utterance. 


“I did not know this when I came back to the reserva- 


tion,” Nophaie went on, as if passion-driven. “I tried to 
return to the religion of my people. I prayed—trying to 
\ Delieve. But I cannot. ...J am an infidel! ...I1 can- 
_ not believe in the Indian’s God—I will not believe in the 
white man’s God.” 





“Oh, Nophaie!” gasped Marian, suddenly released from 


stunning surprise to the consternation and horror. ‘“‘Your 
| faith—will come back.” 


“Never. My white teaching killed it. The Indian’s re- 


_ ligion is best for him. ‘This Morgan kills the Indian’s sim- 
/ ple faith in his own God—makes him an infidel—then 


102 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


tries to make him a Christian. It cannot be done. There 
is not one real Christian Indian on the reservation.” 

“Why—that is terrible!” replied Marian. “But you— 
Nophaie—I am distressed. Oh, do you mean you have 
no belief in a future life?” 

“An infidel has no faith.” 

“But yours will come back. It must. I will help you. 
Surely your religion is as good as mine. No one realizes 
more than I the necessity of faith in God and immortality. 
What good could life be without them? . . . Nophaie, we 
must strive and pray for yours.” 

“Marian, cannot you understand?’ asked Nophaie, in 
pathetic earnestness. “Che knowledge forced upon me by 
white people—my developed intelligence—makes it im- 
possible for me to believe in the Indian’s religion.” 

“Impossible!’’? echoed Marian. 

A silent and impressive spreading of his hands, gesture 
of impotence and helplessness, fixed in Marian’s mind the 
immutability of Nophaie’s spiritual catastrophe. ‘The cer- 
tainty of it pierced her heart. Sorrow for him was succeeded 
by resentment and anger at the white people who had done 
his soul this injury. Nophaie’s soul had as much right to its 
inheritance of ideals and faiths as any white man’s. Marian 
could not bring herself to the point of wanting Nophaie to 
accept the white man’s religion. If she were in his place she 
would not do it. But how to help him! 

“Let us go down before night falls,” said Nophaie, taking 
her hand. 

With careful little steps Marian essayed the descent of the 
stone hill, which in the gathering darkness was difficult. 
An infinite melancholy pervaded the gray, silent desert. A 
camp fire blazed out of the shadow of the cedars. And by 
the time they had reached a level twilight had enfolded the 
sage. 

“Nophaie, listen to my plan for work among your peo- 
ple,” said Marian. And forthwith she briefly told him the 
result of her interviews with Mrs. Withers. Nophaie not 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 103 


only expressed approval, but also gratitude, and was par- 
ticularly desirous of having her find a place at Mesa, in 
the school. 

“You can do so much good,” he said. “The young Indian 
girls will love you. And as soon as you can speak their 
language you will influence them against evil. ‘They are 
primitive children. ‘There’s one Indian girl you must look 
after. She is Gekin Yashi—the Little Beauty. She is four- 
teen years old and large for her age. I know her father, 
Do etin—the Gentleman. He is a fine old Indian. He 
approves of the school and likes good missionaries, but he 
hates Morgan, who seems to be in control at Mesa. He is 
too much interested in Gekin Yashi.” 

““Ah!—Nophaie, I am beginning to understand a little of 
the Indian problem,” replied Marian. 

“That is good. Now tell me, you will stay here a 
little? - So we can ride and climb and talk?” 

“Yes, I'll stay two days. Withers cannot spare more. 
... Ride? J’ll race you through the sage. . . . Then I'll 


| go back to Kaidab—then to Mesa, where I'll begin my work, 





for you, Nophaie. You will come to Mesa?” 
“Yes. I'll ride there every week. But we must meet 
in secret-—somewhere out in the desert, to protect you. The 


agent Blucher has only seen me twice, but he took instant 
_ dislike to me as soon as he learned I was an educated Indian. 
_ He is bad medicine, Marian. Blucher and Morgan run the 
reservation and the school, not for government or Indians, 
but for themselves. “They keep down the better influences. 
_ They dominate government employees, and either get rid of 
_ good missionaries or put obstacles in their way. You will 
soon see through them.” 


“Then you'll come every week,” rejoined Marian, gladly. 


“Oh, that will be fine! And you think I must meet you 
secretly? I am not ashamed, Nophaie. I am proud of— 
of my friendship with you.” 


“Blucher and Morgan must not know you meet me,” 


_ declared Nophaie. “You could not stay there after they 


104 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


found out. I’ll ride to Kaidab in ten days and find out 
from Mrs. Withers what you’ve done at Mesa. ‘Then I’ll 
write you and tell you when I'll come.” 

“And how and where to meet you? I'll have my white 
pony, you know. I can ride out on the desert.” 

“Yes,” he said, simply. 

With this most important matter understood, Marian 
once more felt a warmth and stirring along her veins, a 
regurgitating of that happiness which had been suddenly 
crushed by Nophaie’s disclosure. She would be able to see 
him often! ‘That was the shibboleth of her joy—the in- 
spiration to her endeavor. Would not her love for him and 
faith in him somehow gladden the dark days of his martyr- 
dom? For she considered his life no less. 

The desert night settled down, cool and still, with a black- 
ness of shadow over sage and cedar, and the velvet sky ef- 
fulgent with its myriads of white stars. Marian walked 
beside Nophaie, hand in hand, through the sage toward 
the flicker of camp fire. A coyote wailed its cry out of the 
silence. Marian felt more than the fullness of her heart. 
The sage, the rocks, the murmuring stream, the desert night 
seemed invested with a spiritual power, a breathing soul. 


CHAPTER VIII 


eBay year the summer rains came late—just in time to 
save the upland country from severe drought. Nophaie’s 
people all attributed the coming of the black thunderstorms 
and the down-dropping veils of moisture and the rainbows 
curving over the desert, to the efficacy of their dancing 
prayers. But Nophaie could not believe this. 
Up under the brow of Nothsis Ahn these rains were 
cold even in August. Sometimes sleet fell, pattering on the 


_ sage, whitening the flat rocks and patches of red earth, and 
crusting the woolly backs of the sheep. Maahesenie, who 
tended the flock during Nophaie’s frequent absences, was 
exposed to these cold rains. Indian as he was, he did not 
seek shelter. “The rain was good, even if it was cold. And 
-when Nophaie returned from Kaidab he found his only 
relative seriously ill of a malady that had grown with the 
| years. 


Tending the flock in the rain and sleeping in wet clothes 


_had brought Maahesenie’s rheumatism in more severe form. 


Nophaie feared that he had come home too late. Maahesenie, 


relieved of his responsibility, went to his bed a very sick 
-man. At that altitude the nights were cold, and even in 


daylight Maahesenie’s bed in the hogan was not nearly so 


warm as it should have been. Nophaie made a warm and 
comfortable bed of sheepskins and blankets, but his sick 
relative would not stay in it. The bed he had always been 
used to was what he wanted. Nophaie had brought him 
blankets from Kaidab. And the first Pahute who passed 


got these blankets in a trade for some tobacco. Nophaie 


undertook to instruct his sick and contrary relative. 


“Maahesenie, you have what white medicine men call 
105 


106 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


rheumatism. It is a disease of the blood, affecting joints 
and muscles, and is caused by exposure to cold and wet. 
You must keep very warm and dry.” 

Maahesenie looked at Nophaie as at a younger man who 
spoke idly of things he did not understand. 

““Maahesenie is victim of the Evil Spirit,” replied the 
Indian. “Maahesenie thought evil thoughts. A whirlwind, 
traveling from right to left, which is the wrong way, struck 
Maahesenie when he did not know the prayer to say. And 
it caused his body to be twisted. Maahesenie must have 
medicine to straighten him. Maahesenie must smoke the 
medicine in a jet pipe which the medicine man carries in 
his medicine bag.” 

Therefore Nophaie had to ride forth across the uplands 
to fetch a medicine man of the tribe. This old Indian 
accompanied Nophaie, but held no communion with him. 
Plain indeed was the fact that he would rather have been 
alone in the hogan with Maahesenie to administer to him. 
He gave Maahesenie the jet pipe to smoke, and when that 
custom had been observed he took some salt from his medi- 
cine bag, and wetting this in his mouth he mixed it with 
the ashes from the pipe. “Then he proceeded to rub this 
upon Maahesenie and to massage him, meanwhile chanting 
what Nophaie recognized as the Wind Chant. Nophaie 
approved of the massaging, and it reminded him of how 
the football trainers used to work over him. Well he knew 
what was good for sore muscles. 

The medicine man’s next treatment was to procure flat 
rocks from the stream outside, and to pour different colored 
sands from his medicine bag upon these rocks. He was a 
wonderful artist. “These maneuvers in sand soon took the 
form of symmetrical figures, over which the medicine man 
mumbled impressive and weird incantation. ‘This done, he 
brushed the sand from the rocks, and gathering his effects 
together he left the hogan and went on his way. 

Nophaie was not amazed to see Maahesenie very much 
better and able to get up. Probably if he had been a young. 


| 
| 


| 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 107 


man the treatment would have made him well. But he was 
old, and used up, and no faith could wholly banish disease. 
Next day he again fell victim to ague, to the slow twisting 
knot of his muscles. He gave up then and in somber and 
silent stoicism awaited the end. Nophaie divided his time 
between Maahesenie and the sheep. 

One day nearly a month after Maahesenie had been 
stricken a Pahute rode into camp with a letter for Nophaie. 
The Indian had ridden from Kaidab in ten hours. Nophaie 
took the letter, which had been typewritten, and was without 
address or signature. Yet, singular at first glance as this 
seemed, he knew who had written it and that it was im- 
portant. Rewarding the Indian courier and asking him to 
stay, Nophaie repaired to the solitude of his favorite cedar 
and spread out the letter. 


I have ridden three times to our meeting-place, once each 
week on the day set, and have been disappointed, and worried 
and distressed that you did not come. 

To-day I met Withers at the trading post and he told me 


| Maahesenie was dying. I am very sorry, yet relieved in that 





I now know what has detained you. Withers said he would 
wait while I wrote this letter to you and take it to Kaidab and 


send it to you by special messenger. He is very kind and good. 
You may trust him in every way. So I am writing here in 
_the trader’s office, pretending the letter is for Mrs. Withers. 
Believe me caution is imperative. I am already deeply involved 
in the secret underhand workings of this dreadful place. 


Do not send me any more letters through the mail. If you 


cannot come to meet me—and I'll ride out every week on the 
day we set—do not send messages unless in care of Withers. 
‘It is not safe. My mail from the East has been opened. I 
doubt not that my letters home have been opened. Some of 
them were never received by my aunt and friends. At first I 
put this down to the idle curiosity and jealousy of busy-bodies 
‘or of the clerk in the post-office. He had done me the honor 


to press his attentions upon me, which I didn’t accept. But I 
know now that he is merely a tool of Blucher. No letter of im- 
portance sent East to government or missionary board would 


108 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ever get by this agent, unless favorabie to him and Morgan. 
I suspected this, and fortunately I have written nothing home 
except my own personal interests, mostly concerning people 
there. 

Two weeks ago Blucher asked me to do office work for him 
several hours each day after my regular duty at the school, 
I thought it policy to oblige him, but I insisted on one afternoon 
for myself, which of course is the time I am to meet you. 
Blucher apparently thinks well of me. I heard him arguing 
with Morgan. He called me a tow-headed doll and laughed 
at Morgan’s advice to watch me. He said I minded my own 
business and did not hobnob with the men or gossip with the 
women. ‘Then he heard me set Friel right. You remember 
the annoyance this Friel caused me. As for Morgan, the In- 
dians hate him. Never in a hundred years would they believe 
one word he preaches or says. How can a man lie to the 
Indians, cheat them in money deals, steal their water and land, 
and expect to convert them to Christianity? 

‘This duty in Blucher’s office has been prolific of much infor- 
mation for me. I see, hear, and read a great deal more than 
my work calls for. I feel justified in this. I am out here in — 
your interest. Blucher is German. He is deeply concerned 
over the war in Europe. He hates England and he hates 
America. I know how to serve him to my own interest. But 
Morgan is suspicious of every one. He really is in control 
here. He boasts of having put the “steam roller” under former 
superintendents of this reservation. How he has power to do 
this I have begun to find out. When any new government 
employee or missionary comes here Morgan loses no time in 
his peculiar politics. By his lies and persuasions he influences 
the newcomer to his side, and if he is successful, which he_ 
usually is, he proceeds at once to lay some kind of a trap for 
that person. A frame-up you know, instigated by him and 
carried out by his henchmen. If he fails, then he at ence takes 
violent hatred of this interloper and begins the same kind of 
cunning to have him or her ousted. He really has something 
he can use against Blucher. That would not be difficult for 
an intelligent person to find. For instance, the half-breed Noki 
Indian, Sam Ween, is Blucher’s interpreter. Blucher pays 
Sam twenty dollars a month, when he pays him at all. I asked 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ tog 


Sam. And I saw in government papers the amount appropri- 
ated by the government for Blucher’s interpreter. But Morgan 
has something more on Blucher than the little matter of stealing 
from Uncle Sam. 

All of which leads to the point of this letter. Morgan’s most 
important emissary is Miss Herron, the matron of the Indian 
girls. I have won the love and trust of Gekin Yashi. She is 
not only the little beauty her name signifies but she is sweet 
and good. I have talked much with her, and though very shy 
and afraid she tells me her troubles. Miss Herron hates her. 
And my interest in Gekin Yashi has incurred Miss Herron’s 
enmity toward me. 

Now the situation as regards Gekin Yashi is this. Morgan 
talks religion to her, and to us teachers he speaks of Gekin 


_ Yashi’s intelligence and that he could soon make a Christian 


of her. But it seems to me Morgan’s interest in Gekin Yashi 


is not only to make a Christian of her. 


Do etin, the father of Gekin Yashi, will not allow her to go 
to Morgan’s house or chapel. There is no rule to enforce this, 
and both Morgan and Blucher are angry at Do etin. Morgan 


has influenced Blucher to have a rule enforced whereby Indian 
girls are compelled to go to Morgan’s chapel to hear him 


preach. ‘This rule, I understand, is about to go into effect. 


I fear it will cause trouble among the Indians. 





But the rule will come and Morgan will have his way. 
Gekin Yashi is so afraid of Morgan that she actually shakes 
when I speak of him. The only way I can see to save Gekin 
Yashi is for you to steal her away from this school and hide 
her in one of those wild canyons until Morgan forgets her. 
This may save Gekin Yashi, but not the next pretty little 
Indian girl who will be unfortunate enough to fall into a 
like situation. You understand, of course, that you incur risk 
in attempting such a plan. Risk of your life! Risk not only 
of jail, but of your life! Mine may be a foolish plan, for it 
is certain that Indians in Morgan’s employ could track you 


_ wherever you hid Gekin Yashi. But I could not think of any 


other plan. 
This is a long letter, my friend, and Withers is waiting. 


_ My personal messages must go until I see you, which I hope 
- indeed will be soon. 


110 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nophaie pondered over this letter and reread it, only to 
become more somber and thoughtful. The plan suggested 
by Marian had occurred to him also, and now in the light 
of her revelation he decided he would risk stealing Gekin 
Yashi from the school. But he was tied here to the bedside 
of his dying relative and there appeared to be every reason 
to hurry to Mesa. It could not be done. Maahesenie was 
closer to him than Gekin Yashi. 

Nophaie waited, with his burdened heart growing heavier, 
and while shepherding the flock he resolved in mind plans 
to rescue Gekin Yashi and safely hide her. It would be 
easy to hide her from white men, but almost impossible 
from Indians. Yet he must try. 


Maahesenie died one night while Nophaie slept. Al- 
though he had expected this, the actual fact was a shock. 
More of Nophaie’s Indian nature came out in the presence 
of death. His people were all afraid of a dead man. And 
from this stiff ghastly mask of bronze the spirit had fled. 
Where had it gone? Where was it now? ‘The mystery 
of death was as great as the mystery of life. Were not 
the strange beliefs and faiths of the Indian as credible as 
those of the white man? But here, in this solemn stirring 
moment, as in all the hours past, Nophaie felt aloof from 
the soul of this dead Indian. 

Nevertheless, Nophaie paid stern and strict observance 
to the burial custom of the tribe. Indians of his own 
tribe came to view Maahesenie, but left him for Nophaie 
to bury. The Pahutes who rode by that day halted to 
express their sympathy, and then rode on. Nophaie had 
forced upon him the fact that the Nopahs did not care to 
bury their dead. They shirked it whenever possible. ‘Their 
burial ceremony lasted four days and they could not eat 
until it was over. 

Nophaie had assisted at the funeral services of several of | 
the tribe. He knew what to do, though he could not 


recall most of the prayers and chants. | 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN oi111 


First he dressed Maahesenie in his best garments and 
moccasins and silver. “Then he set about the difficult labor 
of digging a grave with only an ax and sharpened cedar 
sticks for implements. He worked all one day at this, 
keeping the sheep near at hand. 

Next day Nophaie, according to the custom of the tribe, 
broke a hole in the hogan. ‘The dead body of Maahesenie 
must not be taken through the door. And it must be car- 
ried in a perfectly straight line to the grave. Nophaie spent 
a long time over the accuracy of this line, until he believed 
it was as straight as eye of Indian could make it. Then 
he wrapped Maahesenie in his best blanket and carried him 
out and lowered him into the grave. Nophaie’s next duty 
was to cover the dead man and fill the hole level to the 
sage. Maahesenie’s saddle had then to be split and laid 
upon the grave. Likewise his kettle had to be broken and 
deposited there, and the other cooking utensils habitually 
used by him. ‘This breaking was performed to liberate the 
spirits of these necessary utensils so that they could accom- 
pany Maahesenie to the Happy Hunting Ground under the 
earth. Following this ceremony Nophaie went out into 
the sage to bring in Maahesenie’s horses, three of which 
_ must be sacrificed. Rigidly as Nophaie desired to conform 
to the Indian’s rituals, he had to fight himself all the way. 
_ Maahesenie’s horses were not many and three of them were 
all Nophaie could find near at hand. ‘They were young 
and beautiful and full of the joy of life. What a pity to 
kill them! Why kill them at all? The hardest task 
Nophaie had given himself since his arrival in the Indian 
_ country was to lead these three horses up to Maahesenie’s 
grave and there kill them. One of them even had to be 
_bridled so that Maahesenie could easily catch him in the 

other world. 

Sunset of that day found Nophaie’s tasks ended, except 
to destroy or burn the hogan. He waived this last custom 
_ of the tribe, but he did not enter the hogan and never would 
' again. He erected a brush shelter under the cedar where 


112 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Marian had slept. Night found him alone, except for the 
shepherd dog, ‘Iaddy, and the sheep. Long into the dark 
hours did Nophaie lie awake. He was the last of his family 
and he would never have a child. ‘The burden of his life 
pressed hard upon him then. ‘The great breathing spirit of 
nature all around him was as true to him as any spirit the 
Indians might have worshiped. It was there—the mysterious 
power—the eternal thing—the infinite. Life went on. ‘The 
soul left the body. Did it perish or live again in some other 
State? Nophaie could not answer that as an Indian. He 
must answer it as an atheist. “That was the curse of his 
tragedy, the bitter gall of this cup he must drain. For since 
his advent on the desert his Indian soul and white man’s 
intelligence had merged in one beautiful thing and in one 
only—a love of all nature. Sage and mountain, the gleam- 
ing red walls and purple canyons; gahd, the cedar tree, and 
choe, the spruce; the bright faces of desert flowers—these 
were a part of his very being. He felt the spiritual power 
in the rocks and he gloried in the mighty sweep of the 
bow-winged eagle. His Indian nature made him singularly 
acute in all his sensorial perceptions, but he could not think 
in the Indian’s way. 


At dawn next morning Nophaie rode out into the sage 
on the trail to Mesa. 

A few miles from the eastern slope of Nothsis Ahn he 
sheered off the trail to visit a Pahute camp where he engaged 
a boy to tend his sheep during his absence. “The Pahutes 
were glad to see Nophaie and made him welcome. ‘They 
were rich in sheep and horses; their wants were few; they 
lived, peaceful and contented, in the loneliness of their desert 
home. ‘They never saw a white man, except on the infre- 
quent trips to trading posts. Nophaie had forced upon him 
the beauty of their lives. If some of the older men saw the 
vision of the future and the doom of the Indian, they showed 
no sign of it. But Nophaie saw it, and rode on his way 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 113 


sad and pondering, wishing that he too could be as happy 
and self-sufficient as they. 

His route lay through the range of the prosperous old 
Nopah chief whom Withers had accused of salting wool. 
Etenia, the Wealthy, had words of sympathy for Nophaie’s 
loss of kin, and forgot his reason for discord. Nophaie 
did not tarry there long. He saw anew, however, the 
evidences of Etenia’s wealth—a stone hogan of imposing 
proportions, corrals, and cultivated fields, thousands of sheep 
and droves of horses, water in abundance, and all around 
the wide cedared rolling country hogans of his people. 
Etenia had all any Indian could wish for. Yet the only 
thing for which Nophaie envied him was that simple faith 
which had been handed down from his forefathers. 

Nophaie loped along the sage trail, with the cool fra- 
grance of desert in his face, the wide green-clumped expanse 
of purple open to his eye. How immeasureably far apart 
he felt from the people who lived there! Every day brought 
more bitter proof. When he conversed with Indians he 
used their language, but when he thought, his ideas were 
expressed in his mind by words of English. For long he 
had thriven to conquer this. But it was impossible. Any 
slow, deliberate thought expressed in Indian words was 
intelligible to him, even natural, yet never did it convey the 
same meaning as the white man’s language. “That was 
Nophaie’s tragedy—he had the instincts, the emotions, the 
soul of an Indian, but his thoughts about himself, his con- 
templation of himself and his people, were not those of the 
red man. As he saw the beauty of this wild, lonely land, 
and the rugged simplicity of the Indian, his marvelous en- 
durance, his sustaining child-like faith in the supernatural 
and the immortal, so likewise he saw the indolence of this 
primitive people, their unsanitary ways of living, their absurd 
reverence for the medicine man, their peculiar lack of chas- 
tity, and a thousand other manifestations of ignorance as 
compared with the evolutionary progress of the white man. 


114 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Indians were merely closer to the original animal progenitor 
of human beings. 

Nophaie did not easily yield the supremacy to the white 
man. ‘There were many ways in which he believed an 
Indian superior. He thought of Maahesenie’s resignation to 
death and how he had lain down to meet it. ‘My son,” 
he had said to Nophaie, “do not stand over me to obstruct 
the sunlight. Go out with the sheep. My day is done. 
Leave me alone to die.” 

How incalculably more selfish and ignoble the custom of 
the white man! Nophaie remembered a time in the East, 
at Cape May, when he was playing baseball and living 
among white people—how a dying man was kept alive by 
nitrate of amyl five days after he should have been dead. 
Five days of intolerable anguish forced upon him by loving 
but misguided relatives! The Indian knew better than 
that. He had no fear of death. “The mystic future held 
its promise. Life hereafter was a fulfilment of the present. 
The white man hated to let go his hold on material pleas- 
ures; the red man loved the belief of his spiritual metamor- 
phosis. 


‘That day, as many times before, he came upon the Testing 
Stone, lying along the trail. It stood about two feet high and 
was bulky. ‘This was the stone that made a brave of a boy. 
There were many stones like this one scattered over the 
Indian country, and boys of every family tugged and toiled 
over them, day after day and year after year, until that 
wonderful time came when they could lift and carry them. 
It took years to develop and gather such strength. "When 
an Indian youth could lift that stone he had become a 
brave; when he could carry it he was a strong man. If he 
could carry it far he was a giant. ‘This exercise explained 
to Nophaie why an Indian could carry a stump of a spruce 
or the whole of a cedar down the mountain side. 

Nophaie dismounted. He could not pass by this Testing 
Stone. It flaunted in his face a heritage of his people. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 115 


Strength of manhood! ‘The might revered by the gods! 
Power of arms that brought the beautiful light to the 
dusky eyes of Indian maidens! 

Drawing a deep breath and bending down, Nophaie 
encircled that stone with his arms and heaved to the utter- 
most of his strength. He lifted it. He moved it a little 
way. And then its ponderous weight dragged him down, 
loosed his hold, and left him wet with sweat and labored of 
chest. Bitterly he gazed down at this proof of the Indian 
sinew. Scornfully he remembered his triumphs of the foot- 
ball field—the college records so lauded by his white com- 
rades. Any youth of that desert was as strong as he. And 
to the men of the Nopahs he was as a pygmy. Maahesenie 
in his prime had lifted that very stone to his shoulder and 
had carried it for one hundred steps. 

Nophaie rode on his way, and thought of Benow di 
cleash, and watched the changing panorama. Suddenly his 
horse rounded a cedar tree and shied at a monument. 

Nophaie had often seen this pile of stones, but never had 
it halted him until now. It had peculiar significance for 
him. Whenever an Indian passed that way, bent on a hunt 
or a quest involving peril, he gathered a sprig of cedar 
from the tree and, laying it on the monument, he placed a 
stone over it and spoke his prayer. 

Nophaie yielded to the instinct that impelled him to reach 
for a sprig of cedar. He added his stone to the monument 
and spoke a prayer for his adventure. ‘The idea seemed 
beautiful to him. He was the Indian chief faring forth on 
an enterprise of peril. “The dream—the fancy—the faith 
of the red man! But futile was his simple and instinctive 
abnegation of the white man’s knowledge. Swiftly it flashed 
back to reveal the naked truth. His quest was to save the 
soul of Gekin Yashi. He would be too late, or if not too 
late, he could only delay a crime and a tragedy as inevitable 
as life itself. 

Eight hours steady riding across country brought Nophaie 
to the crest of the great plateau from which he saw the 


116 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


long green lines of poplar trees that marked the location 
of Mesa. Far removed was this country from the sage 
uplands surrounding Nothsis Ahn. Bare yellow sandy 
desert, spotted with pale green, and ridged by lines of blue 
rock, swept and rolled away on the three sides open to his 
gaze. Heat veils rose waveringly from sand and smoke; 
and the creamy white clouds rolled low along the dark 
horizon line. 

Some wind-carved rocks of yellow marked the spot 
Nophaie and Marian had chosen as a rendezvous. ‘There 
was cool shade, and shelter from rain or blowing sand, and 
a vantage point from which to watch. Marian was not 
there, nor did her white mustang show anywhere down the 
long bare slope toward the poplars. ‘The time was about 
the middle of the afternoon, rather early for Marian. 
Therefore Nophaie composed himself to wait. 

By and by his vigil was rewarded by sight of a white 
horse gliding out from the green and heading toward his 
covert. Nophaie watched Marian come. She had learned 
to sit a saddle like an Indian. Nophaie felt the shadows 
lift from his soul, the doubts from his mind. Always, sight 
of her uplifted him. More and more she was a living proof 
of many things: the truth of love and loyalty—the nobility 
of white woman—the significance of life being worth while 
for any human creature—the strange consciousness of joy 
in resistance to evil, in a fight for others, in something name- 
less and hopeful, as deep and mystical as the springs of his 
nature. How could he be a coward while this white woman 
loved him and worked to help his people? She was a re- 
pudiation of all his dark doubts. ‘To think evil was to do 
evil. For the hour then Nophaie knew he would be happy, 
and would part from her strengthened. Nothing could 
cheat him out of the wonder of her presence. 

At last she rode into the lane between the yellow rocks, 
and waved a gauntleted hand to him upon the shady ledge 
above. Dismounting, she tied the white mustang to a knob 
of rock, and climbed to Nophaie’s retreat. He helped her up 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 117 


_ the few steep steps, and holding her hand, he knew she 


would have come straight into his arms if he had held them 
out to her. Never before had he so yearned to enfold her, 
to yield to a strong shuddering need of her. But he owed 
her proof of her ideal of the Indian. She had once called 
him her noble red man. Would he let any white man be 
more worthy of that word? 


But five weeks had changed Benow di cleash. Did the 
light-colored blouse and divided skirt, instead of the usual 
mannish riding garb, constitute all the difference? As she 
talked on and on Nophaie listened, and watched her. What 
had become of the fair skin, so like the pearly petal of a 
sago lily? Her face was now golden brown, and thinner, 
and older, too, except when she smiled. Only the blue eyes 
and hair of gold now held her claim to Benow di cleash. 
Her form had lost something of its former fullness. “The 
desert summer was working upon her; the hot winds were 
drying up her flesh. And in repose of face there was a 
sadness that added new beauty and strength to her. Nophaie 
could accept this devotion to him and his people only 
because he saw that she was growing to nobler woman- 
hood. In years to come she would look back upon this time 
and Nophaie without regret. He had vision to see that, 
and it permitted him to be happy with her. 

Then she passed from news of her friends in the East 
to matters at Mesa, and naturally, as was her way, she 
told humorous things that had delighted her in the Indian 
children. ‘The school brought out as many funny things as 
pathetic. Nophaie was pleased with the progress she had 
made in the Nopah language, and yet he had a strange and 
unaccountable regret at hearing her speak it. From tales 
of the Indian children she shifted to an account of the 
intrigue at Mesa, which was now involving friends she had 
made there, a young Texan and his wife, who were in 
trouble, owing to the machinations of Blucher and Morgan. 

Nophaie knew the Texan, whose name was Wolterson. 


118 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


He was a government stockman and his duties were to 
ride out over the ranges to instruct the Indians in the care 
of sheep and horses and cattle. What little Nophaie had 
heard from the Indians about Wolterson was all to his 
credit. This heightened Nophaie’s interest in what Marian 
had to say, and he soon gathered the truth of Wolterson’s 
case, which held something of significance for him. 

Wolterson had come to the desert in search of health. 
He was a cattleman and received an appointment from the 
government to be inspector of Indian stock on the ranges 
adjacent to Mesa. Being a young man of fine southern 
family and highly recommended, he at once incurred the 
dislike of the superintendent. When he asked Blucher 
what his duties would be that individual succintly replied: 
“Ride around,’ and that comprised all the directions he 
ever received. Morgan solicited the good offices of Wol- 
terson through Miss Herron’s overtures to Mrs. Wol- 
terson. As soon, however, as the Woltersons discovered 
conditions patent to all old residents of Mesa, those over- 
tures fell flat. “Then began the insidious underhand under- 
mining work against Wolterson. 

“After I’ve gone to-day,” concluded Marian, “I want 
you to ride down and see Wolterson. “Then ask the 
Indians about him. Soon Blucher will trump up some 
charge against him and call an investigation. Unless Wol- 
terson can disprove it he will be dismissed. "Then we'd 
lose a good friend of the Indians. Wolterson has befriended 
Do etin. That is the real cause of Morgan’s enmity.” 

“‘And—Gekin Yashi?”’ asked Nophaie, in slow reluctance. 

“Safe and well, still,” replied Marian, in glad eagerness. 
“The mills have been grinding as of old, but not so fast. 
Morgan has been to Flagerstown. Blucher has been wran- 
gling all his time with his henchmen—Jay Lord and Ruhr 
and Glendon. I don’t hear much, but enough. It’s mostly 
about Wolterson now and something about the land and 
water mess stirred up by the Nokis at Copenwashie. Friel 
has obtained a patent to the land once owned or at least 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 119 


controlled by the Nokis. Blucher, of course, aided Friel in 
this deal, but now, true to the twist in his brain, he is sore 
about it. . . . The edict has not gone forth compelling the 
Indian girls to go to Morgan’s chapel after school hours. 
But it is certain. . . . I have had talks with Gekin Yashi. 
She is ready to run off. We contrived to get permission for 
her to visit her father. Wolterson is dipping Do etin’s 
sheep and this morning Gekin Yashi rode out to the hogan. 
She’s there now and will remain over Sunday. You can go 
out there at night and make your plans to meet her as she 
rides back alone.” 

“Do etin will be glad,” said Nophaie. “Is Wolterson 
in the secret ?” 

“Yes. He approves. But we must not let him have a 
hand in it.” 

“T shall take Gekin Yashi to a Pahute in the Valley of 
Silent Walls,” rejoined Nophaie, thoughtfully. ‘But few 
Nopahs know this place. It is down under the west side 
of Nothsis Ahn, deep in the canyons.” 

“Valley of Silent Walls,” mused Marian. Then she 
flashed at Nophaie, ‘““Will you take me there some day?” 

“Yes, Benow di cleash,” replied Nophaie. “But you run 
a danger.” 

“Of what—whom ?” 

“Me 1? 

Marian flushed under her golden tan and her eyes 
searched his. Nophaie dropped his gaze, that, alighting 
upon her brown hand, saw it tremble and then clench at 
her glove. 

“You—you are jesting.”’ 

“No. I think I am telling the truth,” responded Nophaie. 
“Some day the savage and civilized man in me will come 
to strife. My Valley of Silent Walls is the most enchanting 
—the wildest and most beautiful place—the loneliest in all 
this desert. Walls of white and red, so high you cannot see 
their rims—running snow water, flowers and grass and 


1200 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


trees! . . . If I ever got you down there I might never let 
you go.” 

“Well, you frighten me,” laughed Marian. “I see that 
you still retain some of your brutal football training. .. . 
But if all goes well—take me there to visit Gekin Yashi. 
Will you?” 

“Could you get away from here?” 

“Nophaie, I will never be permitted to work long at 
Mesa,” replied Marian. “Some day Blucher will awake 
to my two-faced nature. For I have certainly used woman’s 
wits to fool him.” 

“Well, then I will take you to my Valley of Silent Walls.” 
Marian placed her hand on Nophaie’s and looked up into 
his face and then down, with evident restraint of emotion. 

‘““Nophaie—Gekin Yashi loves you.” 

“That child! Why, she has seen me but a few times,” 
protested Nophaie, painfully reminded of Do etin’s proposal 
that he marry his daughter. 

“No matter. She has seen you enough. ‘These Indian 
girls mature early. Gekin Yashi is not yet fifteen, but she 
is a woman in feeling. I think she is very lovable and sweet. 
She is quite the best scholar in the school. I have spent all 
the time possible with her. Believe me, Morgan is not the 
only venomous reptile that threatens the girl. Gekin Yashi 
is Indian clear through, but she has sense. She likes the 
ways of good white women. I have taught her that when 
a white woman loves she holds herself sacred for the man 
who, has won her.” 

“Marian, are you thinking that the way for me to save 
Gekin Yashi is to marry her?” inquired Nophaie. 

“Tt might—be,” murmured Marian, tremulously, “if— 
if you—” 

“But I do not love her and I cannot marry her,” de- 
clared Nophaie. ‘So much has white education done for 
me.” 

After that no more was said about Gekin Yashi. Nophaie 
felt a great throb of pity and tenderness for this white girl. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 121 


How she inspired him to mastery of self, to beat down the 
base and bitter! Something of gayety and happiness came 
to her in the closing moments of that meeting. ‘Then the 
time arrived for her to go. Lightly touching his face with 
her hand, she left him, to run down the declivity and mount 
her mustang. Once, as she was galloping away, she turned 
to look back and wave to him. Her hair flashed gold in the 
sun. Nophaie watched her out of sight, with emotion deep 
and strange, half grief for the fate that was his, half exal- 
tation that, miserable and lost Indian as he was, this woman 
of an alien white race made him a king. 


CHAPTER IX 


T the upper end of the long poplar lined avenue that 

constituted the only street in Mesa, the Woltersons 
occupied a little stone house built by the earliest found- 
ers of the settlement. A grove of cottonwood trees sur- 
rounded /a tiny reed-bordered lake where ducks swam, 
and swamp blackbirds and meadowlarks made melody. 
tere were rich, dark-green verdure and cool shade and 
a sweet drowsy breath of summer, blowing in from the 
hot desert. 

On the other side of the Wolterson house lay a garden 
that bordered on the spacious playground of the Indian 
school. 

Nophaie watered his horse at the thin swift stream that 
ran down from the lake through Wolterson’s garden, and 
along the fence to the orchards. ‘The sun was westering 
low and the heat of the day was dying. Down at the 
other end of the long avenue Nophaie espied Indians and 
mustangs in front of the trading post. He went into the 
open gate of the Wolterson place and let his horse graze 
on the rich grass bordering the irrigation ditch. 

“Howdy, Nophaie!” drawled a slow voice. ‘Shore am 
glad to see you.” 

Nophaie returned the greeting of the Texan, speaking 
in his own tongue. Few white men on the reservation had 
ever heard him speak English. Wolterson was a young 
man, tall and lithe, with a fine clean-cut face, bronzed by 
exposure. He did not appear to be rugged. His high- 
heeled horseman’s boots and big sombrero were as char- 
acteristically ‘Texan as his accent. 

122 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 123 


Nophaie dropped the bridle of his horse and took a seat 
near where Wolterson was damming up an_ intersection 
from the irrigating ditch. He tossed a cigarette case to 
Nophaie, and then went on working. Indians rode by down 
the avenue. A freighter’s wagon, drawn by six mustangs 
and loaded with firewood, lumbered along, with the driver 
walking. Bees hummed somewhere in the foliage and the 
stream murmured musically. 

“The Nopahs think well of you and your work,” said 
Nophaie, presently. ‘‘You’re the first stockman they ever 
praised. If you are brought before an investigating com- 
mittee I’ll get Etenia, and Tohoniah bi dony, and several 
more influential chiefs to testify for you.” 

“Shore that’s fine, Nophaie,”’ declared Wolterson. “I’m 
giving you a hunch, I’ll need them.” 

Nothing was said about Gekin Yashi. Wolterson spoke 
of his plans for dipping sheep over the ranges as far as 
Etenia’s place. Nophaie and the Pahutes of that upland 
country must drive their flocks down there. Grass on the 
lowlands had begun to grow, so that the Nopahs would 
not have to range so far. “Then Wolterson informed No- 
phaie that the government was going to instigate a blood 
test of cattle and horses, as the latter especially showed evi- 
dence of tuberculosis. 

“Any horse or steer that has become infected will have 
to be shot,”’ said Wolterson, seriously. ‘‘Now isn’t it going 
to be hard to convince the Indians of the necessity of this?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid it can’t be done,” replied Nophaie. “Is 
there a real necessity of testing stock for this disease?” 

“{ think so. I have sent my approval to Washington. 
But I dislike the prospect of trouble with the Indians. .. . 
Nophaie, would you be willing to help me by explaining this 
test to your people?” 

“T will, if you can convince me of its need.” 

“Well, when the order comes I'll ride first to your range, 
and you shall see me make tests. Has Etenia many cattle?” 


124 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Not a great many. ‘They are all healthy.” 

“Nophaie, they may look healthy and still have tubercu- 
losis.” 

At this juncture the little Indian boys and girls began 
to pour out of the big red dormitory like a stream of blue 
gingham. Nophaie noted that only the children from three 
years to five or six years of age appeared to be in evidence. 
‘They were a scampering, silent little horde, playing without 
the noise characteristic of white children. “They spread over 
the playground to the number of several hundred, making 
a scene of color and animation. Several little boys came 
along to peer through the wire fence at Nophaie. ‘They 
looked healthy and well cared for, and certainly were cleaner 
than any Indian boys he had seen. How stolid they seemed! 
They gazed at Wolterson with blank black eyes, and at 
Nophaie with scarcely more of interest. 

Nophaie also observed that two of the school teachers 
were out on the grounds with the children, but did not 
approach near enough for Nophaie to recognize them. 
Then Mrs. Wolterson appeared, coming into the garden, 
wearing gloves and carrying a trowel. She was a striking 
young woman, dark as an Indian, beginning to show the 
effect of desert wind and heat. She had a pleasant greet- 
ing for Nophaie. He saw her glance run over the three 
Indian boys and beyond to the playground, as if she were 
looking for some one. 

“Here comes Marian with Evangeline,” she said, ‘as if 
pleased. 

It was then Nophaie saw Marian leading a little Indian 
girl toward them, and he got the impression that this meet- 
ing was not as accidental or casual as might appear to 
others. ‘The two teachers were watching Marian. And 
Nophaie, with his sharp eyes, caught a glimpse of a woman’s 
face in a window of a house across the avenue. ‘This ap- 
peared a busier thoroughfare now. Indians were riding out 
toward the desert. Some of the older schoolboys were play- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 125 


ing ball. ‘Three Indian workmen passed by, carrying long 
shovels over their shoulders. 

“Shore,” drawled Wolterson, with eyes on the avenue, 
“and here comes the champion liar of the reservation.” 

“Bob, don’t say that,” said Mrs. Wolterson, quickly. 
“Somebody might hear you. ‘The very trees have ears, not 
to speak of these Indian boys.” 

Nophaie saw a heavily built young man, roughly clad, 
typically Western in corduroys and boots and sombrero, 
swinging with rider’s gait up the avenue. Upon sighting 
the group in the garden he swerved and, tilting back his 
sombrero, he lounged against the gate-post. His face was 
brown and broad, rather coarse, with thick lips and promi- 
nent eyes, wine dark in color. 

“Howdy folks!” he said, with a slow grin. “You ain’t 
really workin’ ?” 

“Howdy, Jay!” responded Wolterson. “I don’t get much 
time except of evenings.” 

“Why, you seem to have all the time there is,” returned 
the other, dryly, with satire. “And look who’s here—the 
handsome Mrs. Bob. I calculate to find me a wife like 
her.” 

This was the first time Nophaie had ever seen Jay Lord. 
Careless, easy, cool, with his air of devilish insouciance, this 
leering Westener did not enhance Nophaie’s respect for the 
white men. Sight of him, so palpably other than the good- 
natured friend his familiarity assumed, roused something 
latent and dorment in Nophaie. 

“Jay Lord, you’re a sad flatterer,” observed Mrs. Wol- 
terson. 

“Sad? I reckon not. I’m gay,” he replied, and saun- 
tered into the garden. His bold gaze fell upon Nophaie, 
and he addressed him in Nopah. 

“Say, ain’t this the college Injun?” he inquired of Wol- 
terson, seeing that Nophaie paid no attention to him. 

“Who’s that?” drawled Wolterson. 


“Aw, come off,” retorted Lord, in disgust. “I mean col- 


, 


126 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


lege—where this redskin went. You know as well as any- 
body.” 

“Jay, shore, I don’t know anything.” 

“Right. You spoke wisdom for once. An’ I reckon the 
less you know the safer, hey?” 

Then Lord espied Marian, who had come up to the 
fence, leading the little Indian girlk Mrs. Wolterson went 
over to them, answering Marian’s greeting. Lord doffed 
his sombrero and waved it low, crude in his assumption of a 
dignified salute, yet dauntless in his admiration. 

“IT reckon I’ll hang round awhile,” he said, as he ap- 
proached the fence and hung over it. “Why, who’s this 
here little girl? Aren’t you an Injun?”’ 

“I’m not,” piped up the little girl, in astonishingly good 
English, “I’m Miss Evangeline Warner.” 

“Ho! Ho! Listen to the little Injun girl,” replied 
Lord, with a loud laugh. 

“Jay, please don’t tease Eva,” asked Mrs. Wolterson, ap- 
pealingly. ‘‘All the men tease her, just because she’s so 
bright. But you will spoil her.” 

Nophaie had heard of this three-year-old prodigy. Her 
Indian mother had been glad to get rid of her, yet showed 
great pride in Eva’s fame. For some strange reason the 
child, who was a full-blooded Indian, had taken remarkably 
to the white people’s language and ways, and after two 
years hated the very name of Indian. She was a sturdy 
child, with heavy round face and black staring eyes and 
straggling black hair, in neither appearance nor expression 
any different from the other little Indian girls. Nophaie 
roused to a strong interest in Eva. 

“No, ’'m not—I’m not,” declared Eva vehemently, and 
she kicked at the wire fence. 

“Never mind, Eva,” said Mrs. Wolterson, as she knelt 
down to take the little girl’s hand. “Say your go-to-bed 
prayer for us.” 

Evangeline appeared wholly devoid of the shyness char- 
acteristic of Indian children. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 127 


“Now I lay me down to sleep. 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep. 
If I should die before I wake, 

I should worry!” 


Jay Lord roared with laughter, and Wolterson, too, 
enjoyed a laugh. 

“Why—why, goodness gracious!’ exclaimed Mrs. Wol- 
terson, divided between horror and mirth. “Evangeline, 
where did you learn those last words?” 

“From one of the men, that’s sure,’ said Marian. “I 
never heard her say it that way before.”’ ‘Then she stooped 
to Evangeline and, peering into the little dark face, she 
shook her gently. ‘‘Eva, you will get spanked. Say your 
prayer over again—the right way. Remember... you 
will get spanked.” 

Very soberly the little Indian miss eyed her teacher: 


“Now I lay me down to sleep. 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep. 
If I should die before I wake, 

You will get spanked!” 


Before Marian could protest or even before the men could 
laugh, a loud voice, of peculiar timber, rang out from behind: 

“Shut that brat’s mouth!” 

Nophaie knew before he wheeled that the speaker was 
Morgan. And he had closer view of this man than ever 
before. 

“Come Eva,” said Marian, hurriedly, and, rising, she led 
the child away. 

“That sounded a heap like the Old Book, now didn’t 
it?’ rasped out Morgan, glaring about him. 

Nophaie saw a matured man of medium height, thick- 
bodied, with something slack in his physical make-up. He 
had a smooth face the striking features of which were pale 
eyes the color of ice and a long, thin-lipped, tight-shut mouth. 
He had a big nose, somewhat of a reddish hue, and his com- 


128 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


plexion was an olive tan, rather than the healthy bronze 
peculiar to the desert. Morgan seemed not to be an out- 
door man. His was a strange, strong face with an intense 
cast of thought or will, a deeply lined face, especially in the 
furrowed, frowning brow. He was magnetic, but it seemed 
a magnetism of strife of mind, a dynamic energy of brain, 
a tremendous mental equipment. All about him breathed of 
intolerance. 

Jay Lord was the first to answer Morgan. “Sounds like 
one of them schoolmarms, to me.” 

“Mr. Morgan, I’m sure Marian could never have taught 
Eva that,” interposed Mrs. Wolterson. ‘Why, she was 
shocked! So was I.” 

The missionary might not have heard her, for all the sign 
he gave. 

“Wolterson, the agent tells me you drove Gekin Yashi 
home this morning.” 

“Yes, sir,’ replied the stockman, leaning on his shovel 
and slowly lifting his gaze. 

“How come?” jerked out Morgan. 

“Wal,” drawled the Texan, “if you mean what did I 
have to do with it—Blucher gave Gekin Yashi permission 
to visit her father. I am dipping sheep out at Do etin’s. 
Had to haul supplies this morning. Gekin Yashi rode on 
the wagon. ‘That’s all.” 

“Humph! When’s she coming back?” 

“T don’t know. She said she hoped her father would keep 
her home.”’ 

When Morgan’s restless glance fell upon Nophaie it be- 
came fixed. Nophaie met that glance. One of the quali- 
ties he had not absorbed from his long association with white 
people was their habit of dissimulation or deceit. Something 
emanating from this man called to the depths of Nophaie. 
Not the old racial hatred of red man for white foe! It 
was a subtle, complex instinct, born of the moment. Lei- 
surely Nophaie rose to his tall stature, and folding his arms 
he gave Morgan eye for eye. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 129 


“Are you the college Indian?” 

Nophaie did not feel that he was required to answer. 

“Sure he’s the one,” put in Jay Lord. “They call him 
Nophay or somethin’ like.” 

“Can’t you speak English?” demanded Morgan, sharply. 
“Let’s hear some of your Eastern lingo.” 

“TI would not have to speak English very well to do it 
better than you,” replied Nophaie, in his low, level tones, 
perfectly enunciated. 

“Wha-at?” blurted out Morgan. 

Nophaie eyed him with inscrutable meaning and did not 
vouchsafe any more. 

“Have you ever been to my church?” went on Morgan. 

SEN is 

“Well, then, I want you to come.” 

“What for?” queried Nophaie. 

“To hear me preach. If you speak English as well as 
you brag, you can carry the word of God—of Christianity— 
home to your heathen tribe. “Teach them how to get to 
heaven.” 

“We have no desire to go to your heaven,” returned 
Nophaie. “If there really is such a paradise as you preach 
about, all the land there will be owned by missionaries. 
And the Indians would have none to grow their corn and 
hay.” 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” snarled Morgan. 

“Morgan, the most stupid Indian on this reservation is 
smart enough to see through you.” 

“Bah! Your tribe of gut-eaters are too ignorant to see 
anything, let alone the white man’s religion.” 

“The Indian’s own religion is infinitely better for him 
than the white man’s.” 

“Humph!” fumed Morgan. “Did you learn that at 
college?” 

“No. I learned it upon my return to my people. 
What is more, I learned there is not one single real Chris- 
tian Indian on the reservation, and it is your own fault.” 


1430 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“That’s a damned lie,” shouted Morgan, growing purple 
in the face. 

“What do you know of the Indians out there?” demanded 
Nophaie, pointing to the desert. “You have never been out 
there in the desert.” 

Slowly the color left Morgan’s face and there was visible 
a contraction that suggested a powerful effort of will to 
control fury and amaze. When he had himself in hand, 
amazement still was his predominant expression. He had 
encountered an Indian beyond his widest experience. “That 
sudden check, that sudden restraint, showed Morgan’s depth. 
He could retrench. Nophaie read his craftiness. Also he 
received subtle intuition that this missionary must be a com- 
posite of knave and fanatic, an unscrupulous usurper who 
had no illusions as to his honesty, yet was a visionary zealot 
who believed himself an apostle. 

“What do you think you know of me?” he demanded. 

“Only what the Indians say—and what I can see,’ re- 
turned Nophaie, in subtle scorn. 

“I have been missionary here for over fifteen years. “The 
Nopahs are harsh. ‘They are slow to appreciate my work.” 
“No, Mr. Morgan,” retorted Nophaie, “you have it 
wrong. My tribe has been swift to appreciate your work. 
Don’t try any of your religious talk on me. It is all bunk. 
You are not a true missionary.” 

“Insolent heathen!” ejaculated Morgan, choking so that 
the thick folds of flesh on his fat neck worked up and down. 

“A missionary is a man sent out by church to propagate 
religion in the faith that an alien race will be saved,” con- 
tinued Nophaie. “It is not altogether a mistaken sincerity. 
The churches are sincere, and most of the missionaries are 
noble men. ‘The government, too, is sincere, and trusts such 
men as you and Blucher. ‘That must be the reason why 
you have been able to hang on here so long. If you were 
a real man you might help the poor Indians like a real mis- 
sionary would do. You might teach them better ways to 
build, cook, harvest, irrigate, shear their sheep and store their 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 13: 


corn. You might teach them sanitary laws. By improving 
their physical condition, you might raise their moral stand- 
ards. You might, by example, show them how a white 
man works with his hands. But you do not work. Your 
hands, I see, are softer than Mrs. Wolterson’s—if she will 
permit that doubtful compliment. . . . No, Mr. Morgan, 
you are not a builder. You are a destroyer, and not only 
of the Indians’ faith, but of the toil and sacrifice of true 
missionaries of God.” 

Morgan’s egotism was stronger than his restraint—his 
outraged sovereignty could not all in a moment be si- 
lenced. 

“J—TI put you in jail,” he said, with hard expulsion of 
breath. 

“What for? ‘Telling the truth?” rejoined Nophaie, in 
lofty scorn. “This is a free country. J am an American. 
An honest Indian!” 

“T’ll haul you up for this,” he threatened, lifting a shak- 
ing hand. 

Swift as light Nophaie leaped out of his statuesque pos- 
ture, so suddenly that both Morgan and Lord recoiled, as 
if from attack. Certain it was that Morgan’s face paled. 

“Haul me into court!” returned Nophaie, piercingly. 
“Haul me before your investigation committee! I would 
like nothing better. I will have Indians there, and real 
white men to listen. . . . Do you get that, Mr. Morgan?” 

But Morgan shirked an answer, and with somber glance 
sweeping away he drew Lord with him and passed out of 
the gate, down the avenue. Lord’s voice, low and hoarse, 
came back on the breeze. | 

Thereupon Nophaie turned to Wolterson and his wife. 
The Texan’s habitual calm appeared to have been broken. 

“Shore, you gave him hell,” he said, breathing deep. 
“You could have knocked him down with a feather—and 
me, too. . . . About the happiest few minutes I ever passed 
in Mesa!” 

But Mrs. Wolterson appeared pale and distressed. 


132 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Oh, he was furious!” she whispered. 

“Shore, I never saw Mr. Morgan upset like that,” re- 
turned her husband, with a slow grin. “He just couldn’t 
believe his ears. . . . Nophaie, take a hunch from a Jexan. 
Somehow and some way Morgan will injure you. He has 
had to suffer an unparalleled affront before other people. 
Besides, he actually was afraid of you—amazed—furious— 
then afraid. I felt it. I’ve long studied this man. And 
I can’t prove much, but I feel he is capable of anything.” 

“Morgan is a coward and liar. I wonder that some In- 
dian has not killed him long ago,” said Nophaie. “It proves 
the patience and the restraint of my people.” 

“Nophaie, I’ve lived among violent men,” rejoined the 
Texan, soberly. “Don’t underrate Morgan. He was a 
rough Westerner when first he came here. He’s been long 
in power. He’s arrogant—malicious. I’d put nothing be- 
yond him.” 

“Well, to be forearmed is half the battle,” replied No- 
phaie, as he turned to his horse. “I’ll not ride to Mesa 
any more in daylight, nor let Morgan know I’m ever here.” 


It was long past dark when Nophaie reached the hogan of 
Do etin. A fire still burned and in its flickering light sat 
the father of Gekin Yashi, a man little beyond middle age, 
stalwart, deep-chested, with massive head and great rolling 
eyes like those of an ox. 

Nophaie saw that he had been expected. Bread and 
meat and drink were tendered him. While he ate hungrily 
his host smoked in silence. Do etin was not rich in horses 
and sheep, as were most of his neighbors, nor was he a chief. 
Yet he occupied a position of respect and dignity in the 
tribe, by reason of his intelligence. Gekin Yashi was his 
only child. Do etin’s range had long been a grassy flat 
in a shallow canyon watered by a never-failing spring. No- 
phaie looked round in the shadows of the hogan for Gekin 
Yashi and her mother, but they were not there. Perhaps 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 133 


Do etin waited upon him to go into council, and had sent 
his women to a hogan of relatives near at hand. 

By and by Do etin broke his silence. He gave his con- 
sent for Gekin Yashi to go with Nophaie and approved of 
that procedure. But he doubted it would be possible to 
hide his daughter for long. Nophaie should not at once 
incur risk of government punishment by marrying Gekin 
Yashi or letting it be found out that he had hidden her away. 
Do etin believed the white man’s education good for the In- 
dian boys and girls. It taught them to help their parents 
in new and better ways of living. But the religion forced 
upon them was not acceptable, and the ruin of Indian girls 
by white men employed on the reservation was the basest 
and blackest crime of the many crimes the white race had 
perpetrated upon the red. 

Do etin went on to tell of the confessions made to him 
by Gekin Yashi—of Blucher’s enmity toward her father—of 
Morgan’s haranguing at her—of the matron’s forcing them 
her menial labors when she should have been in school—of 
brutality to the Indian children—how all the milk and fruit, 
which should have gone to the children, was used by Blucher 
and his associates. 

Nophaie brought the information of Blucher’s new rul- 
ing, enforcement of which, soon to go into effect, meant that 
the Indian girls must go to Morgan’s chapel to hear him 
preach. 

Do etin showed intense passion and vehemence. ‘‘Never 
shall Gekin Yashi go to Morgan!” 

After this outburst he was long silent, pondering, brood- 
ing, manifestly doubtful of the future. Something pathetic 
and impotent about Do etin touched Nophaie to pity. 

“Do etin, we are in the power of white men,” he said, 
earnestly. “But there are good white men who believe in 
justice to the Indian. ‘There are many good missionaries. 
Still, we must look far ahead. The Indian will merely be 
pushed back upon the barren lands and eventually swept off 
the earth. ‘These things we strive against, as the Nokis 


1334 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


fight being cheated out of their water and land, or as our 
efforts to save Gekin Yashi—these things are nothing but 
incidental to the whole doom of our people. We must re- 
sist, but the end will come, just the same.” 

“Better to fight and die, as our forefathers,’ 
Do etin, sonorously. 

“Yes, it would. But who will fight? Only one Indian, 
here and there, whose heart has not been crushed.” 

Do etin bowed his massive dark head, and the somber fire- 
light shadows played over his still form. 

“Nophaie, you come with the white man’s vision of the 
future,” he asserted. 

“Yes. You were taught to see with your heart. The 
white education taught Nophaie to see with his mind.” 

“The sun of the Indian’s day is setting,’ replied Do etin, 
mournfully. ‘We are a vanishing race.” 


rolled out 


In the clear, cool gray dawn Nophaie waited out on the 
desert for Gekin Yashi, as had been planned. 

Eastward the dim light on sand and shrub lifted to the 
long blue wall of rock that cut the plateau, and above it 
flared the pale gold herald of sunrise. “The desert was as 
still as death. Nophaie waited, at last fixing his gaze down 
the gradual slope at a point where Gekin Yashi must ap- 
pear. She came into sight, a slim dark figure on a gray 
mustang. Nophaie felt a thrill in that moment. Deep in 
him old Indian instincts survived. He was the Indian brave 
waiting for his Indian maiden. ‘The desert stretched there 
vast and lonely. Mountain and mesa, vale and canyon, the 
long greasewood-dotted ridges, the innumerable stones, and 
the sands of the wastes—all seemed to cry voicelessly of the 
glory of Indian legends of love. 

The sun rose, now shining upon Gekin Yashi’s raven- 
black hair, upon the face that was like a dark flower. “TI’wo 
months had changed Gekin Yashi. And never had he be- 
held her in other than the blue gingham uniform of the 
government school. She wore now the velveteen and sil- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 135 


ver and beads and buckskin common to her tribe. As she 
reined in the little mustang beside Nophaie her dusky eyes 
flashed one shy, frightened, yet wondrously happy glance at 
him; they were dropped under dusky lashes. Her bosom 
heaved. Gekin Yashi could not hide her love, perhaps did 
not want to. Nophaie mourned in his heart his unworthi- 
ness and the futility of his life. 

“Daughter of Do etin, listen,” he said. ‘“‘Nophaie is the 
Indian with the white man’s mind. He has come back to 
help his people. He is Do etin’s friend. He loves Gekin 
Yashi, but as a brother. Nophaie will never marry... . 
He will take Gekin Yashi far into the white-walled can- 
yons, to the Pahutes, and hide her there. And always he 
will be her brother and try to make her as the white girl 
Benow di cleash, teaching her what is evil and what is 
good.” 


Naphaie rode away with Gekin Yashi to the northward, 
avoiding all trails, hiding as best he could their tracks, 
searching the desert with keen eyes for Indian riders he 
wished to avoid. As sunset came he turned to the hogan of 
a Nopah he could trust. Next day the black slopes of 
Nothsis Ahn loomed on the horizon. Gekin Yashi gradu- 
ally found her voice and came at last to talk to Nophaie. 
Thus he had opportunity to study the effect of the govern- 
ment school upon an Indian girl. Most of what she had 
learned was good. Some of it was bad. When she went 
back to her home and married, to have children of her own, 
she and they must certainly be the better for her schooling. 
Nophaie saw that as a fact—provided she could return to 
Indian ways. In the long run many educated Indian girls 
and boys might change the squalor and improvidence then 
natural to their elders. It relieved Nophaie to settle this 
question in his mind. Education then for the young Indian 
was good. ‘The fault in the system in this particular case 
and the terrible wrong to the Indian girls were due to the 
individuals who were in power. ‘The simple-minded, wor- 


136 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


shipful Indian maiden, primitive in her instincts and unsus- 
tained by any moral law, was merely prey for beasts of 
white men. White race and red race could not mix. If 
the red man was inherently noble, a dreamer of the open, a 
fighter of imaginary foes, a warrior against warrior of an- 
other tribe, a creature not meant for civilization, then the 
white man was a step above the Indian in evolution, past 
the stage of barbarism, steeped in a material progress of the 
world, selfish and intellectual, more pagan than the Indian, 
on the decline to a decadence as inevitable as nature itself. 
For Nophaie saw clearly that nature was the great law. 
The Indian, even the barbarian, was nearer the perfection 
for which nature worked so inscrutably. “The individual 
must perish that the species might survive. Nature’s ideal 
was strength, virility, fecundity, long life, all physical. If 
nature was God, then the only immortality of man lay in 
his offspring. How bitterly every channel of Nophaie’s 
thought led to his consciousness of being an infidel! 


In three days Nophaie reached the Pahute camp under the 
brow of Nothsis Ahn, believing that the few Indians to 
whom he had trusted Gekin Yashi would keep her secret. 
It cost him all his sheep to engage these Pahutes in Gekin 
Yashi’s service. “They could not leave their range and go 
into the deep canyons for an indefinite period without being 
well paid for it. Nophaie had not thought of that, but he 
gladly gave up his flock. It was much harder to say good- 
by to Gekin Yashi. ‘‘Nophaie! Nophaie!” she called, as 
he rode away. Her cry pierced his heart. What was it 
that he saw in her dusky eyes? Shadow indeed of the In- 
dian’s doom! He rode back to cheer her, to speak for once 
words that he could not swear were truth. ‘Then he rode 
out again. “Nophaie!’’ Her faint cry pealed out over the 
sage. But he did not look back. 


CHAPTER X 


met the hour Nophaie gave up his sheep to the 
Pahutes in payment for their care of Gekin Yashi he 
became a nomad—a wanderer of the sage. 

With responsibility removed from his life, he was no 
longer tied to his lonely upland home—a fact that at first 
seemed grievous. But he was soon to discover how his 
loneliness had been a kind of selfishness which had kept 
him aloof from his people. In the past he had spent only 
a small part of his time among the Indians, and that upon 
his rides to Kaidab or to Mesa and return. How little had 
he really helped them compared with what he might have 
done! Looked at now, he found this owing to his love of 
being alone, of wandering with his sheep in the sage, of 
brooding over his strange life; and also to the sensitiveness 
with which he realized that, though he could go among his 
people, he could not become a part of them. 

A few rides from hogan to hogan showed Nophaie that 
his status among the Nopahs had undergone a remarkable 
change. Not at once did he grasp what it was to which he 
must attribute this welcome change. At Etenia’s home, 
however, the subtle fact came out in the jealousy of Etenia’s 
daughter—she and all the Nopahs had learned of his ab- 
duction of Gekin Yashi. Nophaie was much concerned over 
this discovery, for it augured ill for the seclusion of the 
Little Beauty of the tribe. Upon consulting the old Indian, 
he learned that the news had traveled far and wide across 
the ranges, from rider to rider, from hogan to hogan, from 
lip to lip. Soon every Nopah on the reservation would 
become acquainted with the great feat of Nophaie—who had 
stolen Gekin Yashi from Mesa. Nophaie had been born of 


137 


138 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


chieftains; he was now a chief of wisdom and valor. The 
spirit of the Nopahs still lived. ‘The glory and the dream 
were gone, but there still lived a man of the olden time, 
a master. Etenia swore there was not one Indian in all 
the tribe who would betray Gekin Yashi. Perhaps some 
of the sneaking, crawling Nokis, in fear of Morgan and 
Blucher, would trail Gekin Yashi to her hiding place. But 
every Nopah gloried in the deed of Nophaie. He was a 
hero. All the greater Indian now because he had used his 
white man’s brain to. save the maiden of proud Do etin! 

“Nophaie will marry Gekin Yashi now,’ concluded 
Etenia, and all his enmity seemed gone. He honored 
Nophaie and feasted him, and had his braves sit round the 
hogan fire and sing the beautiful Nopah legends of love 
and courage. Nophaie was powerless to correct this im- 
pression that had gone abroad. All Nopahs, and Pahutes, 
too, took it for granted that the Little Beauty was destined 
to be Nophaie’s wife. All in a day, it seemed, his fame had 
been transformed. Every Indian knew Nophaie’s story, and 
all the aloofness and scorn and disgust engendered by his 
white education would be now as if they had never been. 

Etenia knew his people. Nophaie had put into actual 
deed the secret longing of every Indian. In a week of 
riding over the country Nophaie had impellingly forced upon 
him the truth of Etenia’s judgment. Indian boy, maiden, 
brave, chief, medicine man—all revered him. “The Nopahs 
had been warriors. ‘There still survived in them worship 
of the strong, the courageous, the fighter. “The youths of 
the tribe looked up to him as one whom their elders held 
to be a master, one whose greatness would one day be told 
to them. 

Nophaie rode far to keep his next appointment with 
Marian at Mesa, and for the whole hour of their meeting 
he talked of the change that had come through his taking 
Gekin Yashi away from the power of the missionary. 
Telling her seemed to clarify the vague and strange concep- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 139 


tions of what had happened to him. Then her instant joy 
was uplifting. 

“Nophaie, now your great opportunity has come,” she 
said, with glad and earnest eyes on his. “You can be a power 
among your people. But keep secret—that their faith is 
not yours.” 

“T will,” he replied. In just those few words she illumined 
the wondering, brooding subjectiveness of his mind. What- 
ever he was, opportunity now smiled upon him, and it 
seemed great. He would be listened to and followed. 

“Now let me talk—for soon I must go,” said Marian. 

“No one suspects you. All they know at the agency is ~ 
that Gekin Yashi has disappeared. Blucher did not care. 
But Morgan was furious. I heard him raving. This will 
make bad blood between them. And Do etin will suffer. 
I fear for him. What a grand old Indian! He thrilled me— © 
so calm, so somber and aloof, before those men. He answered 
every question put to him, yet he seemed not to lie! 

‘Do you think she ran off?’ demanded Morgan. 

“*Yes,’ answered Do etin. 

“* “Where?” 

“‘Gekin Yashi’s tracks led north off the road to Mesa— 
and disappeared in the sands.’ 

“You'll help us find her—get her back?’ 

iad ‘No.’ 

“Yes you will!’ 

“Do etin will die before he hunts for Gekin Yashi.’” 

“Marian, let me tell you,” returned Nophaie, ‘Do etin 
said as much to me,” returned Nophaie. 

“Oh, I fear for Do etin,” cried Marian. ‘They will do 
him harm. After Do etin left, Morgan ordered me out 
of the office. ‘Get out, you white-faced cat!’ he shouted. 
And he pushed me out and slammed the door. I heard him 
say: ‘Blucher, when we find this Indian hussy you’ve got 
to enforce that rule. And if Do etin doesn’t put his thumb 
mark on my paper it’ll go bad for him.—And you'll get 
the steam roller!’ . . . Blucher replied, “The hell you say?’ 


1440 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


And Morgan yelled back: ‘Yes, the hell I say! I’ve put that 
steam roller under eleven former agents of this reservation 
and I’m good for a full dozen. Me, and the Old Book 
back of me, are just that strong!’ . . . Then they quieted 
down and I could not distinguish what they said, but they 
were talking for a long time. I think you ought to advise 
Do etin to move to the very farthest point on the reserva- 
tion.” 

“He would not go a step,” replied Nophaie. 

“Then indeed I fear for him,” said Marian. “It was 
the look of Morgan—the tone of his voice. “The terrible 
nature of the man seemed unmasked. Blucher, too, is 
growing harder. He is under a strain. I think the war in 
Europe is on his mind.” 


d 


Nophaie returned by way of Red Sandy, where at the 
trading post he was surrounded by Nopahs he had never 
seen before and made to realize his importance. ‘The trader 
there was buying wool at fifty cents a pound and com- 
plaining about the scarcity of it. The Indians did not 
need money. ‘They were not making any blankets. _Nophaie 
was struck with the evidence of prosperity and independence 
exhibited by these lowland Nopahs. None of their silver 
trappings were in pawn to the trader—which was an un- 
paralleled sign of good times. 

Riding off across the sand to the northward with some of 
these Indians, Nophaie covered twenty miles and more be- 
fore he dropped the last horseman at his hogan door. Every- 
where the gray-green benches were spotted with flocks of 
sheep and little bands of mustangs, and cattle. At every 
hogan the women crowded to the door to peep out at him, 
smiling and whispering. One old squaw elbowed her 
way out. 

“Nophaie, look at Nadglean nas pah,” she said, with 
great diginty, “who tended your mother at your birth. 
Nadglean nas pah washed your eyes. She lives to see you, 
Nophaie, the Warrior. . . . Come, feast with us.” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 141 


Nophaie stayed there, keen to learn of his mother, grate- 
ful to feel stealing over him a closer touch with his people. 
By nightfall, when the feast was served, the hogan had no 
room for more Indians. ‘They ate for hours and sang 
until late in the night. "The occasion seemed one of honor 
and joy to these Indians who delighted in Nophaie’s com- 
pany. Many a dusky eye shone the brighter for his words. 

Next morning he rode on his way, more impressed than 
ever before with the prosperity and happiness of the Nopahs. 
It seemed he now could reasonably calculate that all the 
twenty thousand Nopahs of the reservation were on the 
high tide of well-being. Almost, his hopes rose to a point 
of believing what Nadglean nas pah had said; “Now 
all is well.” Only the wise old men like Etenia and Do 
etin saw the future. Most of the simple-minded Indians 
lived on in the present, taking their wealth as a matter of 
their worthiness, eating, sleeping, riding, shepherding the 
days away, unmindful of the handwriting of the white man 
like a shadow on the sage. 


Night overtook Nophaie on the crest of the great heav- 
ing slope that led to the upland country. He had made a 
short-cut from Shibbet taa, westward toward Etenia’s range. 
His horse was weary. Nophaie turned it loose in the sage 
and made his bed under a thick-branched cedar. For his 
meal he ate meat and corn given him at the last hogan. 

All that was truly Indian in him beat in his blood and 
stirred in his soul here in the solitude and the loneliness. 
He was miles from any trail he had ever ridden. Only 
sight of Nothsis Ahn could give him his bearings. He was 
lost in the desert, reckoning with a white man’s reason, but 
the red nature of him whispered he could never be lost. 
He lay down on cedar boughs, with a saddle under his head, 
a blanket over him, and peered up at the white stars. The 
silence was of the desert locking its elements in repose. 
There was no sound, no life but the breath of nature, the 


142 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


penetrating power of an invisible spirit hovering over all, 
abiding in the rocks, floating in the fragrance of the sage. 

For long Nophaie lay with the absorbed senses of the 
Indian tranced in their singular capacity of absolute thought- 
lessness. He did not think. He felt. He had this Indian 
inheritance, unknown to the white man. ‘Though he did 
not realize it in a thinking act, he was unutterably happy 
while this trance lasted. He saw. ‘The vast star-studded 
dome of the blue sky arched over him, endless, boundless, 
only obstructed by the horizon line. He saw the shooting 
stars gleam across the heavens. He saw through the blue 
depths to the infinite beyond. He saw the shadow of gahd, 
the cedar, against the sky; and the gray obscurity of the 
sage and the dim hills, spectral, like hills in the dawn of the 
earth. He smelled the dry pine-scented dead and fallen 
leafage under him, the woody cedar, the taint of gophers 
in the holes of the dusty ground, the fragrance of the sage, 
the faint hint of rain wafted on the still air from far-off 
storm, the horse odor of his saddle, the warmth of his body. 
He tasted the breath of living things and the death 
of the desert, all in the bits of cedar and sage he 
unconsciously chewed. His ears drank in the sounds of 
the silence—nothing but the vast low thrumming of nature, 
which might have been the beat of blood in his breast. And 
he felt all the deathlessness and immortality around him, 
the link between his living frame and the dust of bones of 
his simian progenitors, felt life all about him in stones and 
woods, in the night shadows, in the mystic dim distance, 
felt the vast earth under him and the measureless void above 
as parts of his being. 

Then across his idle, vacant, opaque mind suddenly shot 
thought and memory and image. He saw Marian’s beau- 
tiful face—the crown of golden hair—the eyes of azure 
blue. His love surged up, like a flood undammed. And 
he remembered he was Nophaie, wanderer of the sage, out- 
law of his people, an infidel, without home or kin or flock, 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 143 


the poorest of Nopahs, doomed to illusion, beating his life 
against the bars of alien hate. 


Upon reaching the upland pasture under Nothsis Ahn, 
Nophaie herded his horses into a band and drove them out 
on the Pahute trail. That night he camped down in the 
deep canyon with the family who lived there, finding in 
this remote place that his fame had arrived before him. 
Welcome was his in every Indian habitation. At sunrise 
he headed his horses up the overhanging colored slope of 
earth and rock, out on the cedared flats, down into the 
monument country where Oljato and the range of his boy- 
hood called with poignant sorrow and regret, and across 
the red-and-yellow desert to Kaidab. 


“Sure I’ll buy your horses,” said Withers, in reply to 
Nophaie’s query. ‘‘What will you take for them?” 

Nophaie hesitated a moment, then named a figure. 

“That’s not enough,” replied Withers. “I'll give you 
five more on each horse. What’ll you take—cash or trade?” 

Nophaie took part of the deal in new outfit for himself, 
which included a gun. 

“Reckon you’re going to do what Blucher told Wolter- 
son,— ride around,’” said Withers, with a laugh. “You 
can do some riding here for us. I’m glad you came. Mrs. 
Withers was about to send for you.” 

Nophaie wondered what the trader’s wife could want with 
him, unless for something in connection with Marian. Also 
he was curious to see if she had any knowledge of his rise 
to fame among the Indians through his taking Gekin Yashi 
from the school. Mrs. Withers was glad to see him and was 
eager to hear news of Marian, but she had heard nothing 
of his abducting Do etin’s daughter. 

“Nophaie, I would like you to help us here in a little 
job—our kind of missionary work,” she said, presently. 
“Do you know this half-crazy Indian we call Shoie?”’ 

“No,” replied Nophaie. 

“Well, he claimed to have bewitched a squaw who died. 


144 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


And he has told two other squaws that he means to work 
his spell upon them. ‘The first one, Nolgoshie, the loping 
woman, got to thinking about this, and she fell sick. I’m 
afraid it will kill her. I want you to help me get Shoie to 
say he will remove his spell. ‘Then ride over to Nolgoshie’s 
hogan and tell her. ‘The other squaw is the wife of Beleanth 
do de jodie. He is a rich Nopah and a good man. I’m 
afraid his wife will also get to brooding about this spell. We 
want you to tell her that it’s the same thing that you called 
Morgan’s teaching.” 

“What was that?” inquired Nophaie, curiously. 

“Bunk!” exclaimed the trader’s wife, with a twinkle in 
her eyes. ‘“That word has spread all over the reservation. 
I’ve had a dozen Indians ask me what bunk meant. You 
see loud-mouthed Jay Lord told it in the trading post at 
Mesa, before some Indians. ‘That’s how it got out. I 
wouldn’t commit myself to calling Morgan’s preaching bunk, 
but that surely describes the talk of Shoie.”’ 

“I thought Jay Lord was one of Morgan’s right-hand 
men,’ observed Nophaie, reflectively. 

“No; he’s Blucher’s tool. For that matter, they all 
hate one another.—Now, will you stay here at the post for 
a few days and help me to deliver these squaws from Shoie’s 
spell ?” 

“Mrs. Withers, do you really believe these Indian women 
can fall ill and die of such a thing?” 

“Believe it? I know it. It happens often. ‘To think 
evil is to be evil, for an Indian. If you can make any Indian 
think a thing it is true for him.” 

“Yes, I know. But I never heard of a half-crazy Indian 
casting a spell.” 

“Nophaie, it will take years before you learn the super- 
stition of your people. You never will understand wholly. 
Remember, you have lived your life away from them.” 

“T can influence this Shoie,’”’ he replied, and then briefly 
related what had happened in Wolterson’s yard at Mesa, 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 145 


his interview with Do etin, his taking Gekin Yashi away into 
hiding, and the strange reaction of his tribe. 

Mrs. Withers grew intensely animated, almost excited, 
and she seemed at the halfway point between elation and 
anxiety. 

“So that was it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been wondering 
about this sudden interest in you. Well, Nophaie, there is 
no other single thing you could have done to establish a great 
name for yourself among the Indians. ‘That will put you 
high up. So in one way it is good, for no matter what hap- 
pens, your name is made. But it is bad in other ways. They 
will get Gekin Yashi. Some of the Nokis will trail her. If 
Blucher finds out your part in it he will arrest youn—And 
when they do find Gekin Yashi I wonder how Do etin will 
act.” 

Thereupon Nophaie told of Do etin’s anger and his stern 
ultimatum. 

“That is very bad,” she said gravely. “Do etin can’t keep 
Gekin Yashi from going to Morgan’s chapel, once that rule 
is put into effect. You see, the Indians are really prisoners 
on this reservation. “They have to obey the government. 
If they don’t they will be forced to. . . . That is bad. Do 
etin will never break his word or give in. It means jail for 
him—or worse.” 


Nophaie took some time over the selection of his outfit, 
especially the gun. He felt himself a novice in the use of 
firearms, and after considerable deliberation he decided a 
small weapon he could conceal if desirable, or carry on his 
belt, would be best for him. 

“Here’s your man Shoie,” said Withers, coming into the 
post. 

Nophaie approached this Indian with interest and some- 
thing of disgust, and yet with a strange, vague reluctance. 
This last must have emanated from the early mental asso- 
ciations of Nophaie’s boyhood, intimations of which often 
stirred him to wonder and doubt. 


1446 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Shoie appeared to be an Indian of perhaps twenty years 
of age, a big-headed brave with bushy hair, from which he 
derived his name. His face might have impressed a super- 
stitious squaw, but Nophaie saw it as that of a vain, sullen 
Indian, lacking in intelligence. Shoie’s garb was not that of 
a prosperous Nopah. 

He was evidently flattered to be singled out of the group 
of Indians, and showed the same deference for Nophaie that 
had become universal. Nophaie affected to be impressed 
with Shoie, bought cigarettes and canned fruit and cakes for 
him, and spent some time with him before broaching the 
subject of Shoie’s spell of bewitchment. “Then Shoie denied 
that he had cast a spell upon any squaw. But after some 
persuasion he confessed it, saying these women were pos- 
sessed of evil spirits which he wanted to exorcise. Nophaie 
at length induced him to say that he would remove the spell. 

Nophaie decided at once to ride out to the hogans of these 
Indians and take Shoie with him. When Mrs. Withers had 
been informed she asked to see Shoie, and conversed with 
him for a moment. 

“Maybe it will work,” she said to Nophaie, “but I have 
my doubts. Shoie is much impressed. He thinks he’s a big 
fellow. He sees that he can make himself felt. Now what 
will happen is this. He’ll do as you want to-day. But to- 
morrow or some other day he'll tell the Indians he has put 
back the spell. You see, he’s just demented enough to make 
the superstitious Indians afraid of him.” 

Nolgoshie, the loping woman, lived out across the desert, 
in a canyon that opened into the mountain mesa. Hogans 
Were numerous under the looming wall of this upland. 
Nophaie made rather a ceremonious visit out of this trip, 
talking with Indians and asking some to accompany him. 
Nolgoshie owned many sheep. She was an expert blanket 
weaver. Her husband had gone off to some other part of 
the reservation. Nophaie found her tended by female rela- 
tives or friends. Before he entered the hogan he called these 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 147 


women out and told his errand, indicating Shoie, who stood 
by, hugely alive to his importance. The women were glad; 
they cast dark and fearful glances at this Indian possessor 
of witchcraft. Nophaie thought best not to take Shoie into 
the hogan with him. 

Nolgoshie lay on her blankets, a squaw still young and not 
uncomely, and for all Nophaie could tell she looked perfectly 
healthy. But she was sick in her mind. 

“Nophaie has brought Shoie. He is outside,” said 
Nophaie, impressively. “He will take away the spell.” 

‘The squaw stared at Nophaie and then at her attendants, 
all of whom nodded vehemently and corroborated his state- 
ment. ‘The effect on Nolgashie was magical. Her face lost 
its set solemn gloom. MHer eyes dilated and she sat up. 
Nophaie talked to her for a few moments, assuring her that 
the evil spirit had departed and would not return. Nol- 
goshie grew better even while he was there. Nophaie left, 
marveling at the effect of thought upon the mind and body 
of a human being. 

He rode with Shoie to the far end of that pasture-land, 
some ten miles to the westward of Kaidab. Beleanth do de 
jodie was at home, much concerned about his wife. She 
was very ill. The medicine man had done her no good. 
Nophaie had audience with her also, and saw at once that it 
was precisely the same kind of case as Nolgoshie’s, only this 
squaw had thought herself into a more dangerous condition. 
Nophaie was not sure that he reached her understanding. 
She, at least, showed no sign of improvement. Nophaie went 
out to find Beleanth do de jodie pressing presents upon Shoie, 
an unwise proceeding, judged in the light of Mrs. Wither’s 
words. 


Next day a messenger arrived in Kaidab with news that 
Beleanth do de jodie’s wife had died. This gave Nophaie 
a profound shock. He exerted himself in every possible way 
to keep Nolgoshie from finding out. In vain! Her own at- 
tendants, in spite of advice and importunity and threats, told 


1448 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


her of the death of the other woman who had been under 
Shoie’s evil spell. 

Nolgoshie fell back into the panic of superstitious fears. 
Nophaie besought her with all the eloquence and persuasion 
he could command. She only grew worse. ‘Then he gal- 
loped off in search of Shoie. At last he found him, on the 
very moment bragging he had put back the spell upon 
Beleanth do de jodie’s wife, and intended to do the same for 
Nolgoshie. 

“Come back with me,’”’ demanded Nophaie. ‘So that 
Nolgoshie may hear from your own lips the spell is broken.” 

“No!” returned Shoie, sullenly, with an uplift of his 
bushy head. 

“You will come,” replied Nophaie, sharply, and he dis- 
mounted. 

The Indians present, all except Shoie, rose in respect to 
Nophaie. An old chief, who had evidently been listening, 
put his head out of a hogan. 

“‘Nophaie is master,” he said. “Shoie is an Indian with 
twisted mind. He is not a medicine man. His spell is a 
lie.” 

Nophaie knocked Shoie down and beat him, and dragging 
him to his feet shoved him back to his horse. 

“Get up,” he ordered. 

Nophaie forced the bleeding and frightened Indian to ride 
with him to the hogan of Nolgoshie. But they arrived too 
late to lend any light to that darkened brain. Nolgoshie 
was raving. 

Nophaie drove Shoie off with a threat to kill him if ever 
again he claimed to cast a spell of witchcraft on an Indian. 
Upon Nophaie’s return to Kaidab with the news Mrs. 
Withers expressed sorrow, but not surprise. 

“I knew just that would happen,” she added. Nolgoshie 
will die.” 

And next day came the messenger with news of her death 
and that none of the Indians would bury her. Nophaie took — 
this duty upon himself. 


CHAPTER XI 


ARIAN WARNER believed that six months of in- 

tensive work in close contact with missionaries, and 
diligent study of every book she could get on the Indian 
problem, had given her a fair understanding of the weighty 
question. To this observation and study she brought as 
keen and critical and unbiased a judgment as was possible 
for her. Emotion did not govern her judgments. Strange 
and poignant as her feeling was, through her relation to 
Nophaie, she kept it from clouding her vision or narrowing 
her mind or obstructing her sense of justice. Something 
about the desert and its primitive peoples had sharpened 
her intelligence, changed her whole outlook of life. 

Agents were appointed by the government; missionaries 
were there only by courtesy. “The whole relation between 
them, and the fate of the Indians, lay in what kind of men 
they were. Political influence sent many men to be superin- 
tendents of reservations, but few of them were efficient. 
Failure in other walks of life was not a great asset for suc- 
cess in a most complex and difficult field. The very ablest 
and finest of men would meet with work needing all their 
acumen and broad-mindedness. ‘The bigger they were, it 
seemed, the more complicated their positions. Possibilities 
of the Indian were unlimited, but so also were the difficulties 
of helping him. It was, however, pretty safe to assume 
that agents did not accept appointments for love of Indians 
or yearning to do good. Marian got the complete history 
of a dozen agents before Blucher, and often when she should 
have been sleeping she was writing down these records. ‘The 
one agent among these whom the Indians respected and 
liked, who bade fair to help them, did not last long with the 
redoubtable Morgan. 


149 


150 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Most of these agents had been hopelessly out of their ele- 
ment. ‘They were holding down an irksome job; they were 
out there because they had failed in the East or for poor 
health or because they had political influence enough to gain 
a job they were not equal to, or in some instances to get 
away from an environment that regarded them askance. 
Some there were who had honestly tried hard to adapt them- 
selves to this work, only to find it beyond them. But from 
the point of view of Indians and missionaries and employees 
of the government, and especially of the traders, almost all 
of these agents were failures. Undoubtedly the subtle com- 
plex situation was too much for any man of ordinary attain- 
ments. 

Years of earnest study and love were of cardinal neces- 
sity in learning to understand the Indians’ need. Even the 
honest missionaries of sense and character had a tremen- 
dous task on their hands. 

Marian found that the Indian’s conception of religion 
was beyond the comprehension of some missionaries. He 
thought in symbols. His God was nature. ‘The Indian 
conceived God in sensorial perceptions of an immense and 
mystic spirit of life and death about him. All that occurred 
in nature was a manifestation of a supreme being’s control of 
the universe. ‘To these manifestations he prayed and 
chanted. He prayed to the sun for heat to warm him and 
melt the snow, and bring back the green to corn and fruit. 
Out of the soft earth sprang the bread that he ate, the grass 
for his flocks. It nurtured life. Snow, rain, and dew, 
the frost and the wind—these come from the Great Spirit. 
The sliding avalanche, the thundering flood, the splitting 
crash of lightning, the blizzard, and the torrid, leaden- 
hazed day of summer, the yellow sandstorm, swooping along 
with shriek and moan—all the phenomena of nature had 
direct and personal connection with the Indian’s inner life. 
His head was in the clouds. He walked with shadows. — 
He heard the silent voices. He was mystic. He was closer 
to the earth than white men. His vision was enchanting. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 151 


Beauty, color, melody, line, and curve, movement and 
fixity existed for him. From the tree came the bow, from 
the flint the arrowhead, from the beast the sinewed string— 
from physical things about him all needs of his material 
life. From the invisible center of his surroundings breathed 
the potency of creation, the divine essence, the secret. At 
sunrise the Indian stood entranced, in adoration of the re- 
newed burst of light, facing the east, with his prayer on his 
lips. At sunset he watched the departing glory of the lord 
of day, silent, rapt, his soul absorbing that eae effulgence, 
and his prayer ending, ‘Now all is well.” 

Only the few men and women who had spent long years 
in the Indian country with open minds and hearts could 
grasp adequately his symbolism, the poetry and beauty of 
his unuttered thought, the worship of nature that was the 
Indian’s. 

The sincere missionary, the man who left home and com- 
fort and friends to go into a lonely hard country, burning 
with zeal to convey the blessings of Jesus Christ to those 
he considered heathen, had little conception of the true 
nature of his task, of the absurdity of converting Indians in a 
short time, and lastly of the complications fomented by a 
despot like Morgan, and by employees of the government, 
the cliques, the intrigues, the inside workings of the machine. 
How little did the world outside a reservation know of 
this tremendous and staggering question! ‘The good mis- 
sionary’s life was a martyrdom. 

Least of all did the majority of these newcomers under- 
stand the desert and its meanings, its subtle influence upon 
life, its inscrutable ruthlessness and ferocity. 

Missionaries, with other white people, born to a life in 
civilization and comfort, were thrown here and there in little 
communities all over the desert reservations. “They worked 
or idled as suited their natures, but they lived. ‘They were 
unconsciously affected by their environment. ‘The desert 
was wild, open, vast, free, lonely, silent, fierce and violent, 
hard and cruel, inevitable as nature itself. “The sun was no 


152 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


respecter of people who lived in places not meant for them. 
Winter and summer the great vast light, the glare of the 
sun, was terrible. It was not to be endured by people with 
white skins. The God of the Indian, at least, did not in- 
tend white men for the desert. “The Bedouin, the Guacho, 
the Indian all had dark faces—the pigment of their skins 
was created to resist sunlight. For months the heat was 
torrid, incalculable in its effect upon mind and blood. In 
the spring the simoon blew—piercing winds, flying walls of 
sand, days and days of yellow palls of dust, irritating to eyes 
and souls of white people. The storms were fierce, sudden, 
violent, like the nature of the desert. “The winters in the 
high altitudes, on the open wastes, were bitter and long and 
cold. 

‘The elements, loneliness and solitude, the great emptiness, 
the endless encroachment of the desert, invariably and in- 
evitably worked upon the minds of white people. Were 
their hearts in this life and their hopes for a future lived on 
the desert, the effect on character, as well as physical being, 
would be vastly different. But mostly they hated the wild 
country that held them for the time. “Thus deterioration 
was sure, both bodily and mentally. Always, in sparsely in- 
habited places, especially in wastelands where the elements 
make life stern, men and women found self-interests and 
human weaknesses growing magnified. ‘They went back in 
the scale of progress. Hate was more of hate, love was 
fiercer, jealousy, greed, cowardice, selfishness stalked out 
from under the thin skin of civilization and grew rampant. 
Endurance brought out the weakness or strength of any man. 
Self-preservation was the first law of life, and on the desert 
this instinct came to the fore. But few men, and those the 
lovers of the open and who welcomed the hard life, ever 
grew nobler for contact with the desert. That some men 
and women did grow wonderful through a strange evolution 
wrought by desert life was proof of the divinity that was — 
in them. ‘These were closest to the Indian. But those who 
deteriorated had the excuse of being unfortunately placed in 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 153 


an environment that brought out the frailities of the human 
family. 

Not improbably this elemental influence explained in part 
the wrong perpetrated upon Indian women by white men. 
Whatever white men might have been back in civilization, 
out in the wild country they were confronted with life in 
the raw. ‘They reacted to it subtly. 

The Indian girl of the desert was strangely and pitifully 
susceptible. She was primitive. She had still the instincts 
of the savage. Her religion did not make for sophistication 
—did not invest her with a protection universal in white 
girls. Her father, perhaps, was a polygamist. Her mother 
did not teach her to restrain her instincts. There was no 
strict observance of moral law in the tribe. She did not 
think evil, because in her creed to think evil was to be evil. 
She was shy, dreamy, passive, though full of latent fire, in- 
nocent as an animal, and indeed similar to one. Her mind 
was a treasure store of legends and lore, of poetry and music, 
of maiden enchantments, but her blood was red and hot, and 
she was a child of the elements. 


CHAPTER XII 


AY EES a put some letters in a drawer of his desk and 
locked it. 

“T’ve got the Old Book behind me,” he muttered, with a 
sibilant note of exultation in his voice. 

He gathered together a number of typewritten pages, all 
soiled, with the dirty thumb marks of Indians at the bot- 
tom. ‘These he placed in an envelope, sealed and addressed 
it, and placed it in his pocket, to give personally to the Indian 
mail carrier. Morgan never intrusted his communications 
to the post-office at Mesa. Pondering a moment, with his 
fat fingers thrumming on the desk, he had an intense and 
preoccupied air. ‘The furrows on his brow knit into a knot. 

His office adjoined the chapel where he preached to the 
Indians. It was not a severe and austere room by any means. 
Color and comfort were exceedingly in evidence. ‘There 
was a significant absence of anything of Indian design. ‘This 
study had two other doors, one opening into his living room, 
the other out upon a back porch. 

Presently Morgan got up and went to the open window. 
The September morning breeze bore a hint of melting frost. 
The summer was waning. Already the orchard showed the 
gold and bronze colors of autumn. But out beyond the 
sweep of desert seemed as changeless as it was endless. “That 
wide expanse of green and yellow, with the dark rugged 
lines of canyons in the distance, and the stark acres of clay 
and rock, seemed an encompassing barrier. Morgan had no 
love for the open spaces. 

His first visitor that morning was Jay Lord. Heavy- 
booted, lazy-striding, he entered familiarly without removing 


154 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 155 


sombrero or cigarette, and his bold face wore a mask of a 
smile. His dusty garb attested to recent travel. 

“Howdy, Morgan!” he said. “I got back last night. 
Haven’t seen Blucher yet. Reckon I wanted to see you 
first.” 

“Did you find out anything?’ queried Morgan. 

“Wal, yes an’ no,” returned Lord. “I can’t prove what 
Blucher wants. ‘Them Pahutes are sure close-mouthed. But 
I’ve a hunch the Injun Nophay had a lot to do with Gekin 
Yashi’s disappearance.” 

“So had I that hunch,” retorted Morgan, darkly. 
“Blucher didn’t want to send you. He doesn’t care, now the 
girl has been brought back. But J care. And I want ex- 
amples to be made of Do etin and whoever rode off with 
Gekin Yashi.”’ 

“Reckon you'll never prove anythin’ on either Do etin or 
Nophay,” said Lord, dryly. “You'll just have to frame 
them.” 

“Jay Lord, I don’t like your talk.” 

“Wal, if you don’t like it you can lump it,”’ drawled the 
other. “I told you I was ready to work for your interests, 
in the dark. An’ so I am. But don’t call spades hearts to 
me. I’ve been ten years rustlin’ round this reservation.” 

Morgan’s pale eyes studied the blunt, nonchalant Lord 
with that penetrating, somber gaze of a shrewd man who 
trusted no one. 

“Very well. We'll call spades spades,” replied Morgan, 
succinctly. “I need you. And you want to replace Wol- 
terson. I’ll see that Blucher puts the steam roller under 
him. And I’ll pay you, besides.” 

“How much?” asked Lord, laconically. 

‘What it’s worth to me,” snapped Morgan. “I don’t pay 
men before they work.” 

“Ahuh! Wal, we understand each other. An’ is my 
hunch about Blucher correct?” 

“What is that?” 

“Wal, you wasn’t particular clear, but I sort of got an 


> 


156 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


idee you wanted more on Blucher, so you could steam-roll 
him when it suited you.” 

Morgan deliberated. ‘The way his hand closed tight be- 
trayed his realization that he was dealing with a shrewd, 
unscrupulous man whom he must bind and hold. 

“You’re no fool, Jay Lord. That’s why I want to keep 
you here at Mesa. . . . Now tell me why you believe this 
Indian had something to do with Gekin Yashi’s disappear- 
ance?” 

“Wal, the day after she was lost I rode across the mesa,” 
rejoined Lord. “I found where Gekin Yashi had rode off 
the trail. An’ I searched round till I saw moccasin tracks 
in the sand, an’ hoss tracks. I’ve been a hoss-tracker all my 
days, an’ there wasn’t a wrangler in my country who could 
beat me. I jest got down on my knees an’ made a picture in 
my mind of them moccasin tracks an’ hoss tracks. ‘Then I 
measured them. I trailed them tracks all day, till I seen 
they were goin’ straight north. Then I came back.” 

“Well, go on,” said Morgan, impatiently. “The Nokis | 
did as well as that.” 

“Sure. But it took them long to find out what I knew 
right off—that they’d lose the trail when they came to the 
sage and the flat-rock country up towards Nothsis Ahn.” 

“Yes, but if the Nokis lost that trail how did they eventu- 
ally find Gekin Yashi?”’ 

“Wal, I found that out this trip. Your Nokis didn’t find 
Gekin Yashi. The Pahutes who had her brought her to the 
camp of the Nokis.”’ 

“Hump! Pahutes? ‘That is queer. Were these Pahutes 
afraid ?” 

“Not of you or Blucher,” replied Lord, with a sardonic 
grin. “It came about this way. “‘There’s a half-nutty Nopah 
named Shoie. He’s a spellbinder. He heard about these 
Pahutes having Gekin Yashi hid deep in the canyons. Of 
course all the Nopahs knew that. Wal, this nutty Injun 
sends word by a Pahute that he had put his spell upon Gekin 


? 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 157 


Yashi to kill her. He’d already killed two Nopah women 
with his spell. Ihe Pahutes are more superstitious than the 
Nopahs. ‘They fetched Gekin Yashi out to the Nokis who 
were huntin’ her.” 

“Well!” ejaculated Morgan. “And how do you connect 
the college Indian with this?” 

“Wal, that’s the funny part, hard to prove to anybody 
but myself,’’ responded Lord, scratching his head. ‘While 
I was up in that country I found out where Nophay had 
lived an’ buried his relation. Sure it’s a wild country. But 
I rode across it, an’ I finally found Nophay’s hogan. I 
searched around for hoss tracks and moccasin tracks like 
them I had pictured in my mind. An’ I found them, plain 
as print. I found clean-cut moccasin tracks on the grave of 
Nophay’s relation. I recognized that track. An’ on the 
way down here I asked a Nopah who buried Nophay’s re- 
lation an’ he said Nophay. . . . Now, Morgan, that’s my 
hunch. It doesn’t prove anythin’, except to me. I know 
who stole Gekin Yashi away. 

“That’s proof enough for me,” returned Morgan, 
somberly. ‘Lord, you’re a sharp fellow. I didn’t appre- 
ciate you. We'll get along. . . . Now, don’t tell Blucher 
this about the Indian. . . . Go now and do Blucher’s bid- 
ding. Keep your eyes and ears open. And see me often.” 

Morgan intercepted the mail carrier and safely deposited 
the precious affidavit of his zeal in that trusty Indian’s 
pocket. 

He then wended his observant way up the shady avenue 
of tall poplars towards the agent’s office. Morgan was 
light-footed. He stepped softly, though not from any in- 
stinct like the Indians. Manifold indeed were the intrica- 
cies of his habit of life. As he mounted the high porch 
steps he heard voices. Friel and the Warner girl! Morgan 
paused to listen. 

“Let me alone,” wearily protested the girl. 

The sound of scraping chair on the floor followed, then 


158 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


swift, soft steps, and a man’s voice, with a quick note, rather 
hoarse. ‘Marian, don’t you know when a man loves you?” 

Morgan opened the door and entered. Friel was trying 
to enfold Miss Warner in his arms and she was thrusting 
him back. 

“Hah! Excuse me, young folks,” said Morgan, with 
severe levity. “Am I interrupting a love scene?” 

“You are not!” cried Miss Warner, hotly, now jerking 
free of Friel. Her face was red. Her dark blue eyes blazed. 
Her bosom heaved. For the first time Morgan thought this 
blond girl handsome. Only dark women appealed to him, 

“So ho?” he ejaculated, with pretension of surprise. 
“What was it I interrupted, then?” 

“Mr. Morgan, you can judge for yourself,” replied the 
girl. 

“Attack, I suppose,” interposed Morgan, as the girl 
paused breathless. 

Friel confronted Morgan in suppressed agitation. He was 
a tall man, not yet beyond middle age, thin and nervous. 

“See here, Morgan, you’re at your old trick of framing 
some one,” he rasped out. 

“Miss Warner, this is serious, but I acquit you of blame,” 
said Morgan, paying no attention to the irate Friel. ‘‘Where 
is Blucher ?” 

“He went to the dormitory to consult Miss Herron.” 

“Please go for him. Don’t mention this unfortunate— 
affair. Leave that to me. I'll see you are not attacked 
again.” 

When Miss Warner had gone Friel roused from his mo- 
mentary angry consternation, and he fell into a fury. For 
a moment he was beside himself, flung his arms, tore his 
hair, and choked in his utterance. 

“Friel, this is a serious charge,” declared Morgan. 

“Trump it up! Hatch something! Frame one of your 
damned tricks!’ exclaimed Friel, in low, hoarse passion. 
“Bah! I’m on to you. How you jump at anything to fur- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 159 


ther your nefarious ends! ... I’m honestly in love with 
that girl, I want her to marry me. You interrupted my 
love-making.—That and nothing more!” 

“Friel, I’d like to believe what you say,” replied Morgan, 
caustically, “but Miss Warner’s plain talk proves you’re 
either a liar or out of your head.” 

“My heavens! It was her temper, I tell you. She knows 
I didn’t mean her harm,” protested Friel. 

“Suppose I call an investigation by the mission board? 
If Miss Warner testified to her convictions and if I told 
what I saw—you would be rather seriously involved, now 
wouldn’t you?” 

Friel gave Morgan one comprehensive glance, keen and 
malignant, and somehow impotent. Then his whole de- 
meanor changed. Manifestly he had been surprised by 
Morgan in the expression of amatory advances he did not 
deem criminal, and next he had fallen prey to perfectly 
natural wrath. But now he had suddenly lost his exces- 
sive irritation, his impulsive and explosive fury. 

“Investigation!” he echoed, slowly. ‘You wouldn’t call 
one on me?” 

“T’ve been your friend here. I’ve kept you here on the 
reservation. ‘This behavior of yours is not becoming to a 
missionary. And your ranting at me did not sound like 
music to my ears. I might call an investigation by the 
board.” 

“You might,’ returned Friel, sarcastically. ‘Which 
means you won’t just so long as I stand hand in glove with 
you?” 

“Precisely. You remember that little irregularity of yours 
concerning the testimonials—the thumb prints of Indians 
who didn’t know they were signing away their land and 
water right? For land you now have a patent to?” 

“Yes, I remember—and most decidedly I remember the 
idea did not originate wholly in my brain.” 

“That you cannot prove,” replied Morgan, tersely. “So 


160 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


I think you’ll be wise to stand on my side of the fence. Here 
comes Blucher. Not a word of this!” 


Morgan locked the door of Blucher’s private office. He 
did not need more than sight of the agent’s face to see that 
the German’s twist of mind was at work. 

Blucher was stocky of build, light-complexioned, broad 
of face, with the German look. Intolerance! 

‘“What’s the trouble?” asked Morgan, and it was certain 
he lowered his voice. 

Blucher’s gray-blue eyes dilated and suddenly appeared 
to gleam dancingly with little arrows of flame. 

“What’s your trouble?” he queried, with a laugh. 
“You're stewed up, same as I am.” 

“Don’t talk so loud,” replied Morgan, with significant 
look and motion at the door of Miss Warner’s room. “I 
don’t trust that girl. My Noki says he saw her at the Castle 
Rocks talking to our college Indian. If it’s true I can see 
through a good deal. But I’m not so sure of that. The 
Noki wasn’t close to them. But we're cautious now.” 

“Suppose it was true?” asked Blucher, interested. 

“It was that educated Nopah who stole Gekin Yashi 
from the school.” 

Blucher vibrated to that. 

“Who told you? How do you know? What fe 

“Never mind how I get my facts. I know. ‘That’s 
enough.” 

“But what you know doesn’t satisfy me,’ returned 
Blucher, testily. “I like Miss Warner. She’s a fine girl. I 
can’t see one fault in her. What’s more, she’s a great help 
to me. I’d miss her.” 

“I’m not suggesting you give her a ride on my steam 
roller,” rejoined the missionary. “If she’s valuable, get all 
you can out of her—until we know for sure. And mean- 
while be cautious.” 

“How’re we going to know for sure? We've read some 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 161 


of her letters. But they didn’t prove anything to me. I 
think you’re overcautious.”” 

“Not me. ‘Those letters of hers gave me an idea. She 
lived in Philadelphia and spent her summers at the seashore. 
She wrote of seeing baseball games there. Now I’ve learned 
that our college graduate was one of the most famous ath- 
letes the Eastern colleges ever developed.” 

“That Indian!” 

“Yes, that Indian,” rejoined Morgan. “I’m not likely 
to forget the sample he gave me of his education. ‘That 
Nopah has brains. Well, I’m wondering if Miss Warner 
might have known him in the East. I’ll write to my Phila- 
delphia friend and ask him for more information, especially 
if this Nopah played baseball at the seashore.” 

“Why not cut straight to the heart of a problem?” queried 
Blucher, impatiently. “You work in the dark.” 

“It’s never wise to show your hand.” 

“Let’s not waste opportunity. “I'll have Miss Warner in 
here,” replied Blucher. 

The missionary raised a warning hand, restraining the 
agent. 

“Wait a moment.’ Morgan’s concentration of thought 
grew more intense. “All right. Fetch her in. But let me 
question her. I'll take a chance.” 

Blucher, unlocking the door, opened it and called, “Miss 
Warner, please step here.” 

She came in, quiet, composed, but a keen eye could have 
detected a slight constriction of her throat, a glistening dila- 
tion of the pupils of her blue eyes. Morgan assuredly saw 
the slight signs of agitation. He fixed his cold, icy gaze 
upon her face. 

“Miss Warner, do you deny you're a friend of the gradu- 
ate, Nophaie—that you meet him secretly ?” 

The girl’s golden tan seemed to recede, leaving a clear 
pallor on cheek and brow. A quick breath escaped her. 
Then she flushed dark red, her eyes blazed as they had 
blazed at Friel, her head went up with dauntless spirit. 


162 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Mr. Morgan, am I to understand that I am a hireling to 
whom you are privileged to put such personal questions?” 
she flashed at him, in counter query. 

Morgan made a slight motion of his hand, as if for 
Blucher to dismiss her. Manifestly he had been answered 
to his satisfaction. 

“Do you deny?” interposed Blucher. 

“T would not deny any implication whatever made by Mr. 
Morgan,” returned the girl, loftily. 

“Very well. That will do,” said Blucher, waving her to 
the door, which he closed and locked after her. 

Morgan signed him to draw a chair closer, and he 
whispered : 

“It’s more than I suspected. Your doll-face is a deep, 
clever woman. She meets the Indian. Maybe she’s in love 
with him. Absolutely she’s not what she seems.” 

The agent stroked his chin and gazed with abject wonder 
and disgust at the missionary. 

“Morgan, you look for rottenness in every man and 
woman because your mind is rotten,” he said. “I don’t — 
believe what you think about her.” 

Morgan’s stout body jerked a little, as with the propelling 
of blood in sudden anger. And the lowering cold shadow 
of his eyes might have been thought-provoking to a less 
stolid man than Blucher. 

“I usually find what I look for,” rejoined Morgan. 
“Let’s drop Miss Warner for the present. How about the 
Wolterson case?” . 

The agent unlocked his desk and produced letters and 
papers. 

“Wolterson is about ready for your steam roller,” said 
Blucher, grimly. “All my reports have gone through. 
Here’s copy of a letter to Wolterson from Commissioner 
Salisbury, Department of the Interior at Washington.” | 

Blucher spread a paper covered with handwriting in lead 
pencil and he read: 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 163 


Rosert WOLTERSON 

Through Supt., Mesa Indian School. 
Sir: 

Reports indicate that your services as stockman are not satis- 
factory; that you lack energy and initiative; that you boast you 
can make a living without work; that you are wholly inatten- 
tive to your duties and have no interest in the welfare of the 
Service; that you spend your time in idleness, loafing around 
your quarters, at different traders’ stores, or taking pleasure 
trips; that you almost invariably remain in bed after the other 
employees are at their work; that you have neglected the 
agency stallions, which were in your care, to such extent that 
one of them died; and that through your negligence a young 
heifer recently died. 

You will be given ten days from the receipt of this letter 
to show cause, if any, why you should not be transferred or 
dismissed from the Service. Your reply should be submitted 
through the Superintendent within the time specified. 

Respectfully, 
Orto SALISBURY. 


“Humph!” ejaculated Morgan. ‘‘That’t not much of a 
charge against Wolterson. What was his reply through 
you?” 

“It’s too long to read. ‘Take this copy with you. One 
thing sure, Wolterson makes a strong case, and just about 
proves it. More than that, he has bobbed up with influential 
friends in Texas, one of them a Senator. ‘The best we can 
expect is that Wolterson will be transferred to some other 
point on the reservation.” 

“That will do. What we don’t want is an investigation 
out here. Wolterson is sharp enough to get that college 
Indian down here, with a lot of Nopahs who know things. 
. . . L see this Indian, and Wolterson, his wife, Miss War- 
ner, the traders, all in a clique to oust you.” 

“Tf me, why not you?” queried Blucher, darkly. 

Morgan waved a deprecatory hand, singularly expressive. 

“You’re only the superintendent.” 


164 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“And you have the Old Book behind you, yes?” demanded 
Blucher, scornfully. 

“T, yes, yes, YES!” replied Morgan, in rising crescendo. 

“Missionary Morgan, do you really believe what you 
say?’ queried Blucher. 

“IT know,” said Morgan, with finality. 

“Hell! ... You and what you believe will go smash 
some day—the longer you last the harder you'll smash.” 

“Perhaps. But you'll not be here to enjoy it,’ retorted 
Morgan. ‘‘We get off the issue. . . . I think we need to 
make further charges against Wolterson. I suggest you 
involve him in this kidnapping of Gekin Yashi.” 


“Tt won’t be necessary. Wolterson will be through here © 


when I approve this transfer. I advised his dismissal, but 
evidently that was a little strong.” 

“So much for him,” mused Morgan, with deep gaze into 
space. ‘‘Before we get on to the Do etin case let’s thresh 
out this matter of the Indian young men getting into the 
girls’ dormitory at night.” 

“Isn’t that my affair?’ queried Blucher. “Are you 
superintendent of this school and reservation?” 

Morgan’s reply was neither negative nor affirmative. It 
was a silent study of the face of the agent. 

“T got the truth of it,” slowly began Blucher. 

“From what source?—Miss Herron told me all she knew 
before you heard of the goings-on.” 

“You think she told you all,” retorted Blucher, with 
malice. ‘‘As a matter of fact, she didn’t I believe she had 


something to do with those Indian youths stealing into the 


dormitory,” 
It was Morgan’s turn to show amaze and skepticism. 


“I knew Miss Herron before she became matron of the. 


school,” declared Morgan, as if the bare statement of such 
fact refuted any possibility of culpability. 


‘The superintendent stared. Then he laughed outright. | 


Evidently this interview was not wholly irksome. 
“What’s that to do with it?” 


+ as 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN . 165 


“Tt has all to do with it,” replied Morgan. “I gave Miss 
Herron the responsible duty of looking after the moral wel- 
fare of the girl students.” 

“Bah! Morgan, can’t you call things by their proper 
names, at least to me,” queried Blucher. “What you mean 
is that this particular matron was put in her job by you. 
Therefore she is responsible to you. Responsible to you, yes, 
for the moral welfare of these Indian girls—and for accurate 
record of what goes on, so that you could be kept posted. 

Morgan made a gesture which seemed to intimate that 
Blucher’s talk was Sanscrit to him. 

“TI can’t prove anything on Miss Herron, so there’s no 
need of my giving reasons for what I believe,’ went on 
Blucher. 

“Yes, there is,” returned Morgan, sharply. “J am re- 
sponsible for Miss Herron. And any word breathed against 
her must be substantiated with facts.” 

Blucher did not appear so dense that he was unconscious 
of being dominated by this missionary. Nor was his im- 
potence a lack of courage or wit to resist. “There was some- 
thing else. 

“Facts? Well, the first fact I established is that this 
night-visit business has been going on for a long time.” 

“How long?” 

“Ever since you first evinced interest in Gekin Yashi,”’ 
returned Blucher, significantly. 

Significance appeared to be lost upon Morgan. ‘So? 
Then say about six months.” 

“Yes. And you know how Miss Gale started the in- 
vestigation by telling us Gekin Yashi had run to her room 
for protection. ‘This happened only a few days after Gekin 
Yashi was brought back to the school. Now Gekin Yashi 
told me that several times before she left the school she had 
to run to Miss Herron for protection. ... Funny, now, 
that your conscientious matron did not report that to the 
superintendent?” 

If Morgan strove to keep his face from being a study he 


166 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


did not altogether succeed. Blucher took a cigar from his 
desk, and lighting it, puffed a few times, all the while watch- 
ing his visitor. 

“Morgan, I know you and others credit me with the 
block-headedness supposedly common to Germans,” con- 
tinued Blucher. “But I’m not so thick that I miss every- 
thing. . . . I suspect, mind you, J suspect that Miss Herron 
did not lie awake at nights praying for the protection of 
Indian girls—especially Gekin Yashi. I know beyond a 
doubt that Miss Herron was glad when Gekin Yashi dis- 
appeared. Also I know from Miss Herron’s own lips that 
she strongly disapproves of the rule making it compulsory 
for the Indian girls to go to your chapel. . . . Are any of 
these facts illuminating to you?” 

“Not particularly,” returned Morgan, with a heavy ex- 
pulsion of breath. “But the goings-on of these young In- 
dians prove they are heathen and will stay heathen until they 
are Christians.” 

“Which will be never,” declared the superintendent. 

‘The missionary was not proof against this outspoken re- 
pudiation of his entire work in the Indian field. 

“I have many converts,” he declared, haughtily, with the 
blood rising to his temples. 

“Morgan, your converts are illusions of your fertile 
brain,” said the German, contemptuously. ‘You show a 
paper to an Indian. You pretend to read what is not there. 
You say to this Indian: ‘Have you not learned from my 
sermons? Have you not accepted my God? .. .’ And the 
Indian replies, ‘Yes.’ . . . What he means is, ‘Yes, I have 
not!’ . ... And you get his thumbprint on your paper and 
send it to your mission, your church.” 

“Blucher, what you think of me and what I think of you 
are not the issues at present,’ said Morgan, deliberately. 
“By and by we are going to clash. But just now we've 
serious business that necessitates unity.” / 

“Yes, I know,” grunted Blucher, “and I hate to get down 
foAt.7 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN $167 


“Tf you don’t make examples of Do etin and Nophaie 
your authority on this reservation will absolutely cease,” de- 
clared Morgan, impressively. A singular force emanated 
from him. He radiated strong suggestiveness of will. 

“Damn that old Indian!” exclaimed Blucher, with sudden 


_ passion. His face set like that of a bulldog. “I'll make him 





consent to that rule or—or—” 

“You'll never make him do anything,” interrupted Mor- 
gan. “You don’t know Indians. Do etin will keep his 
word. He'll never consent to Gekin Yashi coming to my 
church.” 

“T don’t blame him a damn bit for that,’’ retorted Blucher, 
brutally. “But Gekin Yashi is not the point with me. 
Do etin has bucked me. He has opposed me. He will make 
me look weak to all the Indians. But how to make an ex- 


ample of him!” 


Morgan leaned forward to whisper tensely. “Send Rhur, 
the policeman, Glendon and Naylor, at night to arrest 
Do etin. Do etin will refuse to consent to the new rule 


| of the government. He will resist arrest.” 


“For once we agree,” said Blucher in reply. ‘And how 


about the college graduate?” 
Swiftly Morgan snapped his fingers, but the lifted hand 


_ shook before Blucher’s strained gaze. 


““That educated Indian is the most dangerous man, red or 


white, on this reservation,” hissed Morgan. “Leave him 


to me!” 

“Then it’s settled,” replied Blucher. 

“Send your men after Do etin to-night,” added the mis- 
sionary. 

“Yes, the sooner the better. And that compulsory rule 
goes into effect right now.” 


Morgan hurried across the wide avenue toward his house. 
He strode as a man who would be dangerous to meet on a 
narrow footway. Apparently all he saw was the hard- 
packed sand upon which he trod. 


1rdé8 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 
In his study sat the Indian whom he had expected—Noki, 


a slim, tall, very dark man with straight black hair, and © 
eyes of piercing sharpness. ‘This Indian’s latest service to — 


Morgan had been the bringing back of Gekin Yashi. Long 
had he been the missionary’s spy and tool of craft. 


Morgan gripped his arm and dragged him to the couch, 


there to force him down and loom masterfully over him. 
Moistening his lips, Morgan began in hoarse whisper of 
singular potency. 


“Noki, to-night you pay your full debt to the white man — 


of God. . . . Go to Do etin’s hogan. Be there just at dark. 


Let the Indians see you, but not the white men who come. — 


Watch these white men go into Do etin’s hogan. Steal close 


and listen to what they say. Trust to the darkness. Listen — 


to that council. Remember every word you hear. And 


watch—see every move.—When the white men go away you — 


hurry back to me.” 
The Noki’s sloe-black eyes shone with something more 


than comprehension. The Nopahs were hereditary foes of 
the Nokis? 


For a long time after the Indian had left Morgan sat 


motionless in his study, locked in thought, his brow a con- 


gested mass of furrows. What bound him there was a habit 


of mind—a recourse to invention to meet every possible © 


future angle, to fortify against the unexpected, to hide the 
machinations of a master strategist, to satisfy a monstrous 
egotism. No still small voice pierced the conscience of this 
man of God! 

At last he arose, muttering, half aloud: 

“That for sure puts the steam-roller under Blucher.” 


see a a 


CHAPTER XIII 


wie stayed up until a late hour that night, ex- 

pecting the Noki to return with news of what had 
actually happened. But the Indian did not come. Morgan 
grew rather toward a conviction that nothing unusual had 
occurred. So at midnight he put aside the Bible he had been 
studying and went to bed. His slumbers were not disturbed 
by nightmare or visitor. 

Next morning, while at breakfast Morgan had a caller— 
the old man who had been the government farmer at Mesa 
for years. His short wedge-shaped figure seemed energized 
by rugged vitality; his features were a record of the desert. 

“Mr. Morgan, the Nokis down at Copenwashie are raisin’ 
hell with me,” he began. 

“Yes? What for? And when you address me pray do 
not be profane.” 

“It’s a dry season. All but two of the springs have failed. 
The Nokis haven’t enough water for their alfalfa. Friel 
gets the water first for his land. ‘That’s what the Nokis are 
sore about. An’ I’m sayin’ they’ve got reason!” 

“Why do you come to me? I deal with the souls of In- 
dians, not their water rights.” 

“Wal, Friel’s deals are mostly with their water rights,” 
replied the farmer, bluntly. ‘Now my stand is this. The 
Nokis are industrious farmers. ‘They've worked hard on 
that alfalfa. An’ I don’t want to see it burn up. Friel said 
what he did was none of my business. I want the Indians to 
have more of the water that belongs to them.” 

“Belongs to them? How do you figure that?” 

“The Nokis were here before either the Nopahs or the 
whites.” 

169 


170 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


‘“That’s nothing. The water belongs to the government. 
And Mr. Friel has a patent on land and water from the 
government. I couldn’t do anything, even if I wanted to.” 

“Friel has no horses suffering for hay or water. He sells 
his hay. The Indians need good hay and plenty of water. 
They can’t send their horses out into the desert to live on 
soapweed and greasewood. ‘These Nokis are freighters. 
They freight supplies from Flagerstown. ‘That’s how they 
earn their living. . . . They’re not gettin’ a square deal.” 

“Go to Blucher,” replied Morgan. 

“I just left him,” returned the farmer. “He wasn’t in- 
terested—sent me to you. I reckon he was upset by his men 
havin’ to kill an Indian last night.” 

“That so? I hadn’t heard,” rejoined Morgan, with no 
especial interest. He might not have been aware of the grey 
desert eyes bent upon him. 

“Wal, it was owin’ to some new rulin’ or other Blucher 
ordered,” went on the farmer. ‘“‘Do etin refused to obey, 
as I heered the story. When Rhur with his deputies, Glen- 
don and Naylor, tried to arrest Do etin he fought—an’ they 
had to kill him.” 

“That was unfortunate,” said Morgan, gravely shaking 
his head. ‘But Indians must learn to obey.” 

“Mr. Morgan, would you be good enough to have Friel 
ease up on the water?” asked the farmer, earnestly. “He’s 
usin’ more than he needs. An’ we haven’t had a lot of rain 
at Copenwashie.”’ 

“No. Such a request from me would imply that I shared 
your opinion as to Mr. Friel’s wastefulness, which I don’t.” 

“Ah-huh!” ejaculated the government man, and abruptly 
turned on his heel. His heavy boots thumped on the porch. 
‘Then he was gone. 

In the course of the day Morgan heard many versions of 
the killing of Do etin. He read Blucher’s brief statement 
to the officials at Washington; he asked for the distressed 
Miss Warner’s knowledge of it; he heard Rhur tell how it 
had happened, and also Glendon. He showed grave concern 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 171 


as he met the stockman, Wolterson, and asked what he had 
heard about it. All stories were substantially the same, pre- 
cisely what the school policeman and his deputies had re- 
ported first to the superintendent and later told to other 
government employees. There was no excitement nor any 
particular comment. ‘The death of an Indian was nothing. 
But when Morgan asked Jay Lord what he had heard, he 
added a few trenchant words of his own to the reiterated 
story: ‘Wal, that’s what they say!” 


Late that day Morgan received the Noki spy in his study, 
the windows and blinds of which were closed. And peering 
down into the dark, inscrutable face of this Noki who hated 
Nopahs, Morgan heard a long story, told with all the 
singular detail of an Indian’s subtle and faithful observance, 
a story strangely and vastly different from all the others con- 
cerning Do etin’s tragic death. 


It was again night, and one of those nights set for the 
Indian girls selected by Morgan to come to his chapel to 
hear him preach. ‘This missionary had not mastered the 
Nopah language; he had merely been among the Indians so 
long that he had acquired a use of their tongue sufficiently 
to make his meaning clear. 

He harangued at the still, dark faces. “You must learn 
to obey me. Your people are too old to learn. ‘They are 
heathen. Their God is no good. Their religion is no good. 
Your parents have no chance for heaven. ‘They are steeped 
in ignorance and sin. ‘They will burn forever in Hell’s 
fire.” 

“Heaven and Hell are places. Most of the things you do 
and believe now will send you straight to Hell when you die, 
unless you take my religion. The fox made the Nopah In- 
dian, and the fox is the lowest of beasts. As you are now, 
each of you is like a big ugly sore. The school doctor, the 
medicine man, makes medicine over it, and it looks fine from 
the outside. But under that coat it is still a sore. So are 


172 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


you Nopah girls rotten at the heart. You think if you can 
put on bright clothes so you will appear fine on the outside 
you are all right. For this you are going straight to Hell!” 

“You must forget the songs and the legends and the 
prayers of your people. Indians are heathen. ‘They must 
accept the white man’s way, his clothes, his work, his talk, 
his life, and his God. Then some day the Indians will be- 
come white in heart.” 

Thus the missionary preached for an hour to those still, 
dark faces. “Then he dismissed his congregation, but at the 
door of the chapel he drew one Indian girl back. 

“Gekin Yashi—you stay,” he said, as he held her. “I 
will preach to you alone, so you can spread my word to your 
sisters.” 

This Indian maiden did not have a still, dark face. It 
was pale and agitated, yet beautiful with its contour, its 
great dusky eyes, its red lips. She was trembling as the 
missionary led her back from the door. Suddenly he pushed . 
her into a seat and towered over her, strung in all his 
body, obsessed with his fanaticism. 

“Gekin Yashi, do you know your father is dead?” he 
asked, in harsh sharp voice. 

“Oh—no, sir,” the girl faltered, sinking back. 

“He is. ... He was killed last night—killed because 
he fought the white men who went to arrest him. But it 
was sin that killed him. He would not obey.” 

The missionary paused. Gekin Yashi’s sweet and youth- — 
ful face slowly changed—quivered with tears streaming — 
from her tragic eyes—and set in a strange dull expression — 
of fear, bewilderment, and misery. “Then her dark head 
drooped. 

“You ran off to the Pahutes,” went on the missionary. 
“Who took you?” 

Gekin Yashi made no answer. 

“It was Nophaie. He will be shot ee same as your — 
father—unless you confess your sin—and then accept my 
religion. . . . Speak! Did Nophaie take you away?” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 173 


“Yes,” she whispered. “But Gekin Yashi has not 
sinned. She is like the white girl Benow di cleash.” 

Then the missionary thundered at her. 

“Yes, you have sinned. You are all sin. Only the Word 
can wash you clean. Bid me speak it—pray for you to Jesus 
Christ. . . . I will save you from the ice-pits and the fire- 
caves of Hell. . . . Tremble in your fear!—Fall on your 
knees, you daughter of heathen! . . . Hate that false na- 
ture worship! . . . Love me—the white man of God!... 
Promise to do what I tell you!” 

The Indian girl lifted her face, and then her little brown 
hands that fluttered like leaves in a storm. 

“Gekin Yashi—promises,” she breathed, almost inaudibly. 


CHAPTER XIV 


ARIAN, while waiting for the dismissal she expected 

every day, worked on as if no untoward thing had 
happened. But in reality nothing was left for her save a 
morbid curiosity in the affairs of this government school and 
her faithful, stubborn, unquenchable desire to help the 
Indians. 

The autumn days wore on close to winter—wonderful 
keen clear days with the desert imperceptibly changing its 
hue. At night the wind mourned outside her sleeping 
quarters and moaned in the poplar trees. By day the sun 
shone in a cloudless sky, blazing over the desert, a flooding, 
all-embracing light. 

No more did Marian ride out to Castle Rocks. No more 
did she have the thrill and joy of meeting Nophaie. Neither 
he nor she had any proof that his life was in danger, but 
they suspected it, and they knew his liberty was threatened. 
Nophaie had entrusted one letter to Withers and another 
to a Nopah sheepherder, both of whom delivered these mis- 
sives through Wolterson. A note of despair and of love 
rang through Nophaie’s wild words, troubling her soul, 
yet somehow were inexpressibly sweet. Separation made 
him desperate. He needed her. And Marian, in her grow- 
ing poignancy, longed to go to him, to be his wife. She 
would have lived in a hogan. Yet even in her longing she 
realized the nobility of the Indian and his attitude toward 
her. She was not meant for a hogan—to raise her children 
in a mound of earth, like a troglodyte. Infinite respect for 
Nophaie had added to her love. He was a man. How pas- 
sionately she burned to prove to the world what an Indian 
could be! Somehow she would prove that, if not by her 


174 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 175 


own modest pen, then by the power of some one to whom she 
could tell her story. Nophaie, the same as she, was waiting 
for developments—perhaps for the hour of her dismissal. 
Meanwhile his entreaty was for her to hold on and keep 
her courage, and do what good she could in her own way. 
What sustained Marian most of all was the cry of his heart 
for her. 

So she waited, and the weeks passed. And as they passed 
her experience with the Indian children widened, her knowl- 
edge of the hidden wheels of this government machine grew 
by leaps and bounds. But the ideal she had cherished so 
sentimentally, so impulsively, faded away as an illusion, and 
the hopes she had entertained day by day burned themselves 
to bitter ashes. 

Between her and Gekin Yashi had come a strange, cold, 
somber shadow, like that in the Little Beauty’s dusky eyes. 
Marian refused credence to the fears her intelligence 
prompted. Circumstances had altered her opportunities to 
be with Gekin Yashi. “These came now but seldom. Miss 
Herron’s enmity was open and scarcely possible to combat. 
The matron was all-powerful in the school. Moreover 
Gekin Yashi no longer received Marian with shy sweet 
gladness. “The Indian maiden had aged. She listened, but 
did not respond. She seldom raised her eyes. Only rarely 
did Marian penetrate her reserve. Never again would she 
hurt Gekin Yashi by mentioning Nophaie. And another 
illuminating reaction of Gekin Yashi’s was her reply to one 
of Marian’s appeals, “Oh, no one ever tells me beautiful 
things!” Marian wondered whether all Gekin Yashi’s 
pathos was due to the loss of her father? 

As winter approached and the war in Europe extended its 
claws farther and farther over the world, and especially 
toward the United States, Blucher indubitably leaned more 
to an obsession of the rights of Germany. Marian typed 
many of his letters and she noticed that he let slip the mental 
note of lesser things. He could scarcely put his mind on 
the tasks before him on the reservation, let alone solve their 


176 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


problems. Thus he grew lax in caution, at least so far as 
Marian was concerned. Nor was he guarded in speech with 
any one. One afternoon a number of the government em- 
ployees were in Blucher’s office, the door of which stood 
open. News had arrived in the mail of various angles of the 
war, mostly favorable to Germany. ‘The talk of the men 
was general, though forceful enough, until all at once Wol- 
terson spoke out: 
“Shore, somebody ought to shoot that Kaiser.” 


Blucher started up as if he had been struck; and if ever 


a man’s face was charged with concentrated passion his was 
then. He actually addressed Wolterson in German—and 
then, seeing how all the men stared, he grew red and blurted 
it out in English. 

“Would you shoot the Emperor?” 

“Well, wouldn’t you?” drawled Wolterson. 

“I certainly would not,’ snapped Blucher. 

The Texan’s reply rang out minus the drawl: 

“Shore, J’d like to.” 

Blucher suddenly seemed to see in Wolterson something 
vastly more inimical than concerned the sordid petty inter- 
ests of a government reservation for Indians. 

What Blucher’s reply was, if he made any, Marian did 
not hear, nor did she get another look at him. From that 
hour, however, she dated a fixed change in Blucher. A 
tremendous force changed the direction of his mind, so that 
his weakness was as if it had never been. Marian pondered 
over this and also over a remark made to her by Wolterson. 
“If the good old U. S. has to go to war with Germany, life 
will shore be hell for us on this reservation.” 


Meanwhile Marian’s observations and convictions grew 
with the passing of time. How much she would have to 
tell Nophaie upon their next meeting! 

Morgan was a master in a Machiavellian game of politics. 
Many of the employees were not adversaries of the mission- 
ary, although they had been brave enough to take exception 


EE 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 177 


to extraordinary statements made to the Indians. Girls had 
been taken from the reservation, during the absence of the 
agent, and sent to another state to attend Bible school. 
Morgan had been seen repeatedly on the school fields and 
at the school stables, and in other isolated places, talking 
earnestly to enemies of Blucher. 

Most significant of all was the singular fact that letters 
written to Washington, and to the Mission Board were not 
only never answered, but never received by the officials to 
whom they were addressed. The chief of all the Nopahs, 
a most intelligent Indian, wrote through an interpreter a 
letter to Washington, telling and substantiating facts im- 
portant to the government and to the reservation. He con- 
cluded this letter—a copy of which Marian read and con- 
sidered a remarkable document—by asking a question: “Is 
this reservation a reservation for Indians?’ No reply was 
ever received. 

Marian had great difficulty in learning the real deep sig- 
nificance of the Indian’s religion. "The Nopahs prayed to 
the Sun, Moon, Stars, Wind, Thunder, Lightning—any- 
thing beyond their understanding, and all of which they 
symbolized. “They recognized the unseen power which sent 
the sun each day, and the warm winds and the cold, and all 
physical phenomena. ‘They heard the idea that God was a 
person and abided in a particular place, but they argued if 
there was a personal God and a material Heaven, there 
would be a road leading to it. ‘They believed there was a 
physical life for spirits of the good, which belief accounted 
for their custom of sending with the dead the best horses, 
bridle, saddle, belt, beads, gun. Tools of all sorts were 
sent—the spirits of the tools—everything that was sent 
along for the spirit of the dead man had to be killed so that 
they could go along. Nopahs believed that spirits of evil 
persons went into animals here on earth—into the coyote, 
bear, cougar, snake—and this was the reason why the Indians 
seldom or never killed these creatures. 


178 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Yet keen as was Marian’s curiosity, she avoided some 
things that would have been easy to see. On the other hand, 
there were incidents she did not care to see yet could not 
help seeing. At the midweek service Morgan slapped the 
Indian boys who did not remain quiet while he ridiculed 
the beliefs of their people. Morgan often reported the 
children to the matron with instructions that they be pun- 
ished. Marian had seen several instances of Miss Herron’s 
punishments. She compelled children to bend forward, 
hands touching the floor, or to stand erect, with hands lifted 
high, for as many minutes as they could endure it. Not 
unusual was it for a girl to faint under this punishment. 
One day some Indian boys ran across the porch of Blucher’s 
house. Marian saw the agent run out, catch one of them, 
knock him down, and kick him after he was down. ‘The 
little fellow did not rise very readily. 

Another day, early in December, when, despite the bright 
sunshine, there were ragged edges of ice along the irrigation 
ditches, Marian was hurrying by the cellar door of one of 
the storehouses. Through the door she saw two tiny Indian 
boys trying to assort a huge pile of potatoes. It was very 
cold down there in the cellar and the potatoes were covered 
with frost. ‘The boys were so cold they could not speak and 
could scarcely hold a potato in their little hands. Marian 
took them to the engine room, where they could get warm. 
Then she reported the incident to Blucher, who insulted 
her for her pains. 


By a process of elimination Marian arrived at a few proofs 
of the compulsory school education being beneficial to the 
Indians. Perhaps ninety-nine out of a hundred students 
returned to the old life, the hogan and the sheep. ‘They could 
not help but carry ideas of better life, better methods, better 
management. “They could understand English and knew 
the value of money and of a trade. So that whether they 
liked it or not they were somewhat better equipped to meet 
the inroads of the white man. ‘These advantages, however, 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 179 


were negligible, especially in case of the Indian girls, when 
compared with the disadvantages of the compulsory school 
system. Marian inclined more and more to the conviction 
that the whole government school and reservation system 
was wrong. 


‘Fhese weeks of comparative inaction for Marian and 
the dearth of news from Nophaie and the apparent indiffer- 
ence of Blucher and Morgan to her presence as an employee 
of the government in no wise lulled her fears, and certainty 
of ultimate dismissal. ‘The powers were intent on matters 
of more importance. Marian grew brooding and nervous, 
and was troubled by strange portents impossible to define. 
She felt that something was about to happen. 

And one morning, when Miss Herron, her hard face pale 
and agitated, came running into the room where Marian 
was working she felt a shock. Her intuition had prompted 
her aright. 

‘The matron ran into Blucher’s office, the door of which 
Was open. 

“Where’s Morgan,” she asked, shrilly. “I can’t—find 
him.” 

“What’s wrong?” queried Blucher, with a frown of an- 
noyance at this intrusion or disruption of his thought. 

“That college Indian—forced himself into the school 
room, cried Miss Herron. “He scared me out of—my 
wits. He’s dragged Gekin Yashi into the hall—where he’s 
talking to her. I heard Morgan’s name—then I ran out— 
over to his house—to tell him. . . . Oh, that Indian looked 
terrible!” 

“Nophaie!”’ ejaculated Blucher. Manifestly that Indian 
name conjured up swift and bewildering ideas. Blucher 
looked mightily concerned. When Miss Herron started to 
run out he detained her. “You stay right here—and keep 
your mouth shut.” ‘Then he grasped the telephone. 

The shock to Marian had kept her standing just where 
she had been when Miss Herron entered. Shuffling, soft 


1s THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


footsteps that she recognized as Morgan’s gave her another 
shock. ‘Then the missionary entered. Certain it was he did 
not know of the presence of Nophaie. But his glance at 
Marian, and then sight of Miss Herron in the next room, 
told him something was amiss. 

“‘What—why are you here?” he demanded, entering the 
office. 

“Shut up!” interrupted Blucher. “Morgan, there’s hell 
to pay. Your college Indian is here—with Gekin Yashi. 
. .. Hello! ... Yes, this is Blucher. Where's Rhur? 
..~- Not there? Where is'he? Find him quick.” 

Blucher slammed down the receiver of the telephone and 
glared at Morgan. Marian could only partially see the 
missionary’s face, and what she saw was pale. 

“Morgan, that Indian is with Gekin Yashi now,” said 
the agent, hoarsely. ‘Your friend Herron here heard him 
speak your name.” 

“What’s—it mean?” blurted out Morgan, incredulously. 

“TI don’t know, but I wouldn’t be in your boots for a 
million,” replied Blucher, sardonically. “Have you got a 
gun?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Old Book won’t be behind or in front of you 
now!” 

“Lock the door,” shouted Morgan, wheeling. He banged 
it hard. Marian heard the key turn. 

Marian had a glimpse of his face as he shut the door 
and somehow sight of it roused her. She peered through 
the open door, out into the yard, toward the dormitory. A 
tall Indian was running fleetly toward the office. Marian 
thrilled to her depths. Had she not seen that magnificent 
stride? This Indian was Nophaie, running as she had seen 
him many a time—running with the incomparable swiftness 
that had made him famous. Before she could draw another 
breath he had reached the porch steps to mount them in one 
panthezxish bound. His moccasined feet padded on the floor. 
‘Then—he flashed in upon her, somehow terrible. <A soiled 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 181 


handkerchief, folded narrow, and spotted with blood now 
dry, circled his brow and black hair. His eyes seemed to 
pierce Marian. 

“T saw Morgan come in,” he said. “Is he there—with 
Blucher ?” 

“Oh—yes,”” gasped Marian. “They’re locked in. You 
mustn't... . Oh!” 

Nophaie pulled a gun from somewhere, and lunging at 
the locked door, he shoved his foot against it with tremendous 
force. The lock broke. ‘The door swung in. Nophaie 
bounded across the threshold. 

Marian, suddenly galvanized into action, ran after him. 

Miss Herron lay on the floor in a faint. Blucher sat 
back in his chair, mouth agape, eyes wide. Amaze had 
begun to give way to fear. Morgan was ghastly. 

Nophaie, with his right hand, held the gun low. It was 
cocked and it had an almost imperceptible quiver. With 
left hand Nophaie significantly touched the bloody bandage 
round his head. 

“Do etin’s murderers did not give me that,” said Nophaie. 
“They came three times to find me. But they failed. It 
was your Noki who ambushed my trail and shot me... . 
I have his confession.” 

Neither of the accused could utter a word. The Indian’s 
menace was unmistakable, as inevitable as it was terrible. 

“Morgan—I thought well to get Gekin Yashi’s confession 
also—so I can kill you without the compunction white edu- 
cation fostered in me.” 

Morgan gasped and sagged against the wall. Blucher, 
livid and fearful, began to stammer incoherently. 

Marian felt a tremendous sensation in her breast. It 
seemed to lift her. It passed, and she found herself burning 
deep within, suddenly unclamped from that icy terror. 

“T am going to kill you both,” said Nophaie. 

With that Marian shut the door behind her. ‘Then she 
got between Nophaie and the men, facing them. She realized 
what she had to do, and was equal to it. 


182 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Keep quiet,” she ordered. 

Wheeling to Nophaie, she went closer to him, with one 
hand going to his shoulder, the other forcing down the 
leveled gun. 

“You must not kill these men.” 

“Why not? Blucher had his men murder Do etin. Mor- 
gan has murdered Gekin Yashi’s soul.” 

“That may be true,” responded Marian. “It’s not a 
question of justice. If you shoot them you will go to the 
gallows.” 

“Yes, if I were caught. And then I would like to tell 
in a court-room what these men are.’ 

“Nophaie, you would not be believed except by a fe 
who could not help you.” 

“Then I'll kill them in revenge. For Gekin Yashi—for 
my people.” 

“No! No! You are above that, too. It’s only your passion. 
There is no good to be accomplished. ‘The evil these men 
have done will earn its punishment. Don’t kill them.” 

“I must. There is no justice. Your government is not 
honest or fair with the Indian. It never was and never 
will be. Not to save the Indian! ‘These reservations are 
not for Indians. ‘They are desert fields, isolated wastes with 
which a few white men induce the government to appropriate 
fifteen million dollars—that they may keep their fat, useless 
jobs. . . . Ihe whites have educated me. And all I know 
cries out to kill these devils. I must do it.” 

“But you are the man I love,” cried Marian, driven to 
desperation by his cold truth, by the remorselessness of his 
just wrath. “You are the man. It would break my heart if 
you became a murderer—a fugitive from justice—and if—if 
they hanged you—I’d die! ... My God! Nophaie, for 
sake of my love—for me—let these men live. ‘Think of 
what it means to me. I'll marry you. I'll live with you. 
I'll spend my life helping your people—if—if only you— 
will not—spill blood.” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 183 


She embraced him, clung to him, weakening at the end 
of her long appeal. 

Nophaie slowly let down the hammer of his gun. “Benow 
di cleash, hold this for me,” he said. 

Trembling, Marian accepted the heavy weapon, wonder- 
ing the while what he meant to do. She began to throb and 
thrill. His look, his demeanor, the very radiation of him 
had undergone a remarkable transformation. ‘The deadli- 
ness, the something foreign to Marian’s conception of him, 
had vanished. Strangely he recalled Lo Blandy. 

“Gentlemen, this girl of your race has saved your lives,” 
he said. “I meant to kill you. . .. But not even she, or 
your government, or the God you pretend to worship, can 
save you wholly from the Indian.” 

Then with swift violence he turned upon Morgan, and 
in one singular powerful motion, in which his whole body 
appeared to participate, he shot his knee up into the man’s 
prominent abdomen. ‘The blow made a sodden sound not 
unlike a heavy beat upon a drum. Morgan crashed against 
the wall, his head struck hard, his mouth spread wide, and 
a tremendous expulsion of breath followed. All the wind 
had been kicked out of him. As he sank to his knees his 
face grew hideous. His hands beat the air! 

Next, in one bound Nophaie leaped upon the desk, and 
from that right down on Blucher, breaking the chair and 
sending the agent hard to the floor. Nophaie did not even 
lose his balance. How light, supple, wonderful his 
movements! 

Marian could not have cried out or moved to intercept 
him to save her life. She was in the grip of an absolutely 
new and strange and terrible spell. Nophaie no longer 
meant to kill: he meant only to hurt. And that liberated 
something deep in Marian’s blood. It seemed to burst and 
shoot in fiery currents all over her. “The Indian’s actions 
fascinated her. How strange that he never made a move 
to strike Blucher, who was cursing in fury and terror, trying 
to get up! But he could not. Nophaie kept kicking him 


184 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


down. Every time the German got to hands and knees 
Nophaie would swing a moccasined foot. He kicked and 
he shoved. And then it appeared he was plunging Blucher 
nearer and nearer to Morgan, whose convulsions had evi- 
dently gained him some breath. Another kick sent the agent 
hard against the kneeling missionary, knocking him over. 

“At college I learned a great many white man’s tricks,” 
said Nophaie, with grim humor. “And one of them was 
to kick. College men claimed I could kick a football harder 
and farther than any other athlete who ever lived. Now 
since I scorn to soil my heathen red hands on such dirty 
beasts as you I must resort to kicking.” 

And without particular violence or rancor, he kept up this 
game of football until both men were disheveled bloody- 
nosed wretches. Suddenly he ceased. Marian saw then that 
Miss Herron had revived and was sitting up. Nophaie 
looked at her with the same disgust that the men had inspired 
in him. 

“T ought to kick you too,” he said. “But | have a white 
man’s education.’”’ Drawing Marian out of the room, he 
closed the door and took his gun from her shaking hands. 

“Don’t be frightened, Benow di cleash,” he said, with a 
strong, tender arm round her. “You saved me again. I 
can do nothing but love you more—and go back to my 
canyons. . . . Don’t worry about what Blucher and Mor- 
gan will do. They are cowards. ‘They will not speak one 
word of this. If you get dismissed, go to the trader’s house. 
I beg of you—stay on the reservation yet awhile. Send me 
word through Withers. Good-by.” 

“Oh, Nophaie!” cried Marian, trying to find her voice. 

He glided out upon the porch, looked to right and left, 


and then leisurely trotted down the steps, down the path 


to the road. Marian espied his horse tied to the fence near 
the gate. She expected to see men running from all direc- 
tions. ‘But there were none. Marian’s heart slowly moved 


down out of her throat. She saw Nophaie mount his horse 


and lope away. 


CHAPTER XV 


Pyer in the canyoned recesses of the rock-ribbed earth, 

far beneath the white dome of Nothsis Ahn, Nophaie 
established his refuge in one of the almost inaccessible niches 
of his Canyon of Silent Walls. 

He had packed supplies in from Kaidab and had left the 
post with an arrangement whereby any letters from Marian 
and more supplies would be sent once a month by a trusted 
Pahute. 

Nophaie held dear to heart and conscience Marian’s appeal 
that he would not become a murderer. And it seemed 
the only way he could escape spilling blood was to hide him- 
self in the canyons, there to spend the winter months, and to 
wait. He had little fear of Blucher’s hired policemen find- 
ing him here. Long before they could get near the only 
entrance to the Canyon of Silent Walls they would have 
lost any possible trace of him. Between his retreat and the 
upland plateau of Nothsis Ahn lay many miles of labyrin- 
thine canyons, and the great western roll of the Marching 
Rocks. ‘There was no trail over these hills of marble. ‘The 
smooth wind-worn slopes left no trace of hoofs or moccasins. 
Many were the perilous precipices along which wound the 
only course over this range of wind-carved mounds. The 
last Pahute hogan stood on the cedared brow of the upland 
slope, thirty miles away in an air line, three days of exceed- 
ingly toilsome travel up and ever upward out of the rocky 
depths. 

Nophaie penetrated to the furthermost corner of one of 
the canyened wings of the valley; and here where the foot 
of white man had never trodden, under gleaming white 
walls lifting to the sky, he pitched his camp. It was a 

185 


186 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


place of all places for the lonely Indian. The upland coun- 
try was now in the grip of winter. Down here the grass 
and moss were still green, the willow and oak leaves had 
thinned out, yet many were left, fluttering gold in the sun- 
light, and the cottonwoods tenaciously clung to their autumn 
hues. Flowers still bloomed on the benches where the sun 
lingered longest. Bees and beetles buzzed throughout the 
noonday hours. Choe, the spruce tree, beloved by Nophaie, 
could be seen standing black and slender far up on the snow- 
margined brow of Nothsis Ahn, but down here in the valley 
gahd, the cedar, flourished and kept its everlasting rich 
green. ‘Tolie, the blue jay, sacred to Nopah ceremonies, 
had come down off the mountain to spend the winter where 
the heat of the sun was reflected from lofty walls. Mock- 
ing-birds heralded the late sunrise with bursts of melody. 
Shy wild little birds, nameless for Nophaie, darted among 
the willows above the murmuring stream, now and then ut- 
tering melancholy notes. And from the high niches and 
crannies pealed down the sweet, strange piercing twitter of 
the canyon swift, bird that pitched downward like the 
gleam of an arrow. 

Nophaie had reasoned that if there was anything to help 
him now in his extremity it was communion with his soul, 
and mastery of his physical self, here in the shadow of these 
lonely, silent walls. If arrest for assault threatened him 
out there on the reservation he could not long have gone 
on working among his people. Besides, more than arrest 
surely threatened him. ‘The wound from Noki’s treacherous 
bullet had scarcely healed. So that there were several rea- 
sons why it was well for him to hide, to be alone, to await 
some mystic issue which was written. He would escape his 
enemies; he would be free of the cold winter that bound all 
Indians to their hogans; he could live in utter freedom here 
in this beautiful valley; he could dream and think the hours 
away, facing his soul, finding himself, growing away from 
that fierce hatred, realizing some melancholy happiness in the 
sweetness of love for Benow di cleash. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 187 


Nophaie’s valley resembled somewhat the shape of an 
octopus, except that the main body was narrow and crooked 
and the arms extended far and winding. ‘This body was 
about a mile in length, and the larger arms were much 
longer. Innumerable ramifications on a lesser scale cut 
into the cliff walls everywhere. A thousand undiscovered 
and untrodden nooks and corners, caves and caverns, cliff- 
dwellings and canyons in miniature assuredly were lost in the 
intricacies of this valley. The great carved arm that cut 
deep into the bulk of Nothsis Ahn was a tremendous canyon 
in itself, lofty-walled at its head, opening wide at its junc- 
ture with the main body, margined by wondrous shining 
smooth walls waved like billows, red and yellow in hue, and 
crossing the valley proper to narrow again and lift its ram- 
parts to the sky. “Through this canyon ran the stream of 
water, and its course was one of ruggedness. ‘That stream 
in flood, swollen by suddenly melting snows on the moun- 
tain, had cut a deep and devious gorge and had carried a 
million bowlders on its way. It had dug a dry river bed 
of rocks. Gravel-bars, sand-bars hid their white surfaces 
amid the bowlders, and cottonwood trees stood up among 
them, and willows shaded them. ‘Thickets of reeds and 
matted brush and long coarse-bladed grass made impene- 
trable barriers to the wilder recesses. ‘This canyon showed 
most the forces of the elements and it was a wilderness. 

Nophaie seemed driven to explore, to seek, to search, to 
climb—especially to climb for a height that was unattainable 
but to which he must aspire. All Indians loved lofty places. 
And Nophaie was like an eagle in his love of the lonely crag 
and the wide outlook. The silent walls close at hand had 
no greater fascination than those beyond ascent. ‘Time 
would surely come when they would speak to him. These 
dreaming walls had a voice for others beside the red man— 
for all humanity. But it had to be waited for and earned. 
Nature was jealous of her secrets. She spoke only to those 
who loved her. 


188 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Rest and calm returned to Nophaie, and then the days 
seemed to merge into one another, to glide on and on toward 
a nameless and wished-for end, an unveiling of the future. 


The day had been unusually warm for that time of year. 
At sunset, when Nophaie climbed the high cone-shaped 
knoll in the amphitheater of the valley, there was still heat 
on the smooth rock. He felt it through his moccasins, and 
when in climbing he touched it with his bare hand the con- 
tact was pleasant. A partially overcast sky and an absence 
of wind had kept out the cool air from off the mountain. 

Nophaie reached the round summit and there he reclined. 
Bees or beetles went humming past him, evidently toward 
the higher cedared part of the valley. “These belated toilers 
made the best of daylight. 

The overcast sky broke but slightly in the west, and that 
only enough to send a faint rose color to the tips of the 
great white towers. “Through the gap to the north Nophaie 
saw the dim purple rim of a distant mesa. The long slow 
twilight was one of the strange and beautiful features of this 
Canyon of Silent Walls. Sunset came early because the in- 
sulating walls stood up so loftily that before the day was 
done they hid the westering sun. So the waning light lin- 
gered. Nophaie watched the faint rose fade and the gray 
shadows rise. What he longed for eluded him. He had 
only the strange joy of his sensorial perceptions. 

Before darkness enveloped the valley he descended from 
the knoll, walking on a long slant, sure-footed as a sheep, 
sliding here and there, down and down into the bowlder- 
strewn ravine, where indeed night had fallen. ‘There be- 
side the stream he was halted by sounds he had not heard 
before—the strange croaking of canyon frogs. “The un- 
usually warm day had brought summer again to the deni- 
zens of the canyon. But the croaking of these frogs was 
weird and weak, as if they had only half awakened. One 
uttered a faint hoarse rattle, another a concatenated twang, 
another a kind of bellow, at widely separated intervals. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 189 


Then followed a few trills, neither high nor sweet, yet 
somehow melodious. With the cool night wind these songs 
of belated summer ceased, and Nophaie heard them no more, 

But that little he had heard was good for him. While 
he sat there on a huge bowlder the night fell black. He 
felt the sadness and tranquillity of the hour, and realized 
that many such hours must be his, out of which might come 
some alleviation of his sorrow. 

Above him the rounded wavy lines of the knolls loomed 
dark, and beyond them towered the canyon walls with crags 
against the sky. No blaze of stars illumined the heavens. 
‘There was no blue. From the shadow under him there rose 
a sweet music—tinkle and babble and murmur, and splash- 
ing and gurgling of swift water over stones. It accentuated 
the loneliness and silence of this isolated rent in the earth. 
Nophaie’s people, and the world of white men, seemed far 
away and not necessary for him at that hour. ‘Time spent 
here would teach Nophaie the superfluity of many things— 
perhaps resignation to his infidelity and the futility of love. 
The silent walls, so like great eyelids full of dreams, the 
deep shadows, the haunting memory of the trilling frogs, the 
soft cool breeze, bringing breath of snow, the vast black 
heave of the mountain rock, and the infinite sky above, more 
mystic without its trains of stars—these brought a sense of 
the littleness of all living things, of the exceeding brevity 
of life. 

Nophaie’s emotions gradually grew deep and full. That 
bitter and hateful mood of the past slowly lost its hold on 
him. He seemed to be stripping off the clutch of a half- 
dead lichen from his soul. ‘The oppression of the wonder- 
ful overhanging rocks—a sense surely that had not been 
Indian—left him wholly. Noble thoughts began to form 
in Nophaie’s mind. His work left undone, his duty to his 
people, his responsibility to a white woman who had blessed 
him with love, must be taken up again as the only rewards 
of his life. Emotion uplifted Nophaie and intelligence com- 
bated selfishness. Yet always sadness dominated—an in- 


190 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


eradicable sadness now because there had come to him a 
tremendous realization of the mastery and tragedy of nature. 
Any human nature was a fascinating study; his own in con- 
tact and relation to his people was a sorrowful thing; here 
against the loneliness and solitude of this wilderness it was 
forced out stark and naked. He seemed an animal with a 
soul—the necessity to eat and no longing for life—the power 
to recreate and no right to love—the seed of immortality 
in him and no belief in God. 


But strangely, a hope seemed gestating in Nophaie’s soul, 
trying to be born. More and more he felt its stirrings deep 
within him. It was like that fleeting conception of aboriginal 
man he sometimes caught when he narrowed his eyelids and 
looked at nature as if he were the first human to evolve. It 
was as ephemeral as the moment in which he felt but did 
not think. It had to do altogether with the physical. In 
nature then was not only the secret, but also salvation for 
him, if any were possible. What he yearned to reach was 
the God of his forefathers. This surely was a worship of 
nature, but not as he saw nature. ‘The spirit of dead men 
did not go into rocks and trees and clouds. Was there a 
spirit that went anywhere? Nophaie saw through super- 
stition. In Indians it was ignorance—the need of wor- 
ship of supernatural things—of powers greater than human. 
But if there were a spirit in man that left his dead body 
might there not be a spirit in nature infinite and everlast- 
ing? Nophaie’s stirring hope was that he had really begun 
to hear the voices of the silent walls. Not morbid fancy, 
but sentiment, not lonely, brooding, erotic love, not the fear 
of death and the blind strengthening of false faiths, not 
anything but intelligent grasp at the soul of nature! Sci- 
entists would not grant nature a soul. But wise as scien- 
tists were they could not solve the riddle of life, the extent 
of the universe, the origin of time, the birth of man, the 
miracle of reproduction. “Their deductions were biological, 
archeological, physiological, psychological, metaphysical. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN  ig1 


Nophaie was at war with the intellectual forces that had 
robbed him of his religion. There was something) in these 
dreaming, silent walls, these waiting, brooding, blank walls, 
these wind and water sculptored stone faces of the ages. So 
he wondered under their shadow, he watched them at dawn, 
in the solemn noonday light, at sunset, and under the black 
canopy of night. So he climbed over them and to their sum- 
mits, and high upon one to see another. 

Nophaie was sitting up high in the center of the amphi- 
theater and the hour of sunset was nigh. An _ intense 
hue of gold crowned all the rounded rims and domes that 
faced the west, out of which poured a glory of sunset light. 
High on the white towers of rock the gold was red; higher 
still on the snow of Nothsis Ahn it was rose. Away across 
the gap of the valley, northward, loomed up the great mesa, 
veiled in lilac haze. Faint, soft, dying lights attended the 
waving slopes under the ragged crags that touched the col- 
ored sunset sky. Clouds floated there—fleecy, like wisps of 
coral in a turquoise sea—cumulus, creamy white, edged by 
silver, mushrooming in rosy columns—clouds of pearl and 
alabaster, and higher in the intense blue, smoky wreaths 
of delicate mauve, and bossy beaten masses of burnished 
bronze. 

Every moment then had its transfiguration. Every 
moment seemed endless in its gift to the recording soul. 
This was the living world of nature and its change was 
one of the elements of its marvelous vitality. “The beauty 
and the glory might have existed only in Nophaie’s mind. 
But they were tangible things. ‘The light fell golden upon 
his hand. All the valley was full of luminous glow, mov- 
ing, changing, rays and shadows, a medium of enchant- 
ment. An eagle, bow-winged and black against the lumi- 
nosity of the sky, swept across the field of Nophaie’s vision, 
flashing like a streak of darkened light, to plunge into the 
purple depths beyond the walls. It gave life to Nophaie’s 
panorama. It gave him a strange joy. From the lofty 
tower above the monarch of the heights had shot down- 


192 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ward like a thunderbolt, free, alone, beautiful, wild as the 
wild wind, to gladden Nophaie’s sight, to add another thrill 
to his hope. 

Nophaie knew not the prayer to say there upon his rounded 
altar of rock. Not one Nopah of all the tribe would 
have been so wanting! But he breathed one of his own. 


“Glory of sun at dying day, 
Beauty of cloud in the sky, 
Splendor of light on the crag, 
Passionless god of nature 

Make me as thou. 
Lend me thy gift. 
‘Teach me thy secret. 
Give me thy spirit. 


“Eagle of the marvelous flight, 

Shade of the purple height, 

Ray and veil and mystic glow, 

Blue of heaven and rose of snow, 
Come to Nophaie. 


“Come all things of heaven and earth, 
Come out of west and north and east, 
Come from the blowing wind. 

Come from without the silent walls, 
To the lost and lonely soul 
And call me thine.” 


Nophaie turned to face the east—the sacred direction of 
the sun-worshiper. Grandeur of the west must be reflected 
in the east. Rounded rocks, waved on high, billowing 
higher to the rims, in velvet tones of crimson and lavender, 
heaved to the loftier walls. Where the setting sun struck 
the wall-faces in full light it painted them a vivid orange 
red. Deep shadows made sharp contrast. Crevices and 
lines of cleavage hid their purple mystery from the blaze of 
the sun. They lifted the golden surfaces, contoured them 
with edge of violet. “The Canyon of Silent Walls had been 
flooded with transforming hues. It shone upon a thou- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 193 


sand surfaces of gold and red, with undertones of steps, 
leading up and up, stairway of the gods, to the castellated 
towers above. Gray towers, white towers, tinged with gold, 
rugged and spired, crowned this horizon wall of rock and 
led Nophaie’s gaze onward to the south where the grand 
north wall of Nothsis Ahn was emblazoned with the cata- 
clysmic scars of ages. 

Of all the silent walls insulating Nophaie’s valley, that 
was the loftiest and the most aloof, the one most calling, the 
wall of weathered slope of avalanche, of the green-black 
timber belt shining in the sun, of the pure white dome of 
snow. Here were the unattainable heights. Baffled and 
haunted, Nophaie could only withdraw his gaze down and 
down to the canyoned amphitheater beneath him and re- 
construct in imagination this magnificent speaking wall of 
rock, this barrier of stone, this monument of nature, this 
beautiful face of the mountain of light. 

Beneath Nophaie there was shade of canyon depths—the 
dark cedar clumps, the blank gray thickets, the pale bowl- 
ders, all growing obscure and mysterious in the purple twi- 
light. Where the base of the lower wall began to sheer 
upward it was dark, carrying on its face the conformation 
of the western walls that cast the shadow. Darkly the 
wavering edge of shade stood out with startling distinctness 
against the deep red sunset—mirrored cliffs beyond. Per- 
ceptibly this dark line of shade crept on high. As the sun 
sank lower the shadows of all intervening walls rose like a 
tide, and the radiance moved upward. ‘There was no stand- 
ing still of these contrasting bands of light and darkness. 
They moved and their color changed. A canyon swift swept 
glitteringly down from the heights, like a flying spark of 
golden fire, and darted into the shadows, perhaps to the 
warmer shelves of rock for the night. Sweet, wild, and 
faint twittered out their notes. 

The red walls sheered up to those of gold, where line 
and regularity broke into a thousand cliffs, corners, benches, 
caves, a vast half-circular mountain front of rock where 


194 THE VANISHING AMERICAN. 


niches were fringed by stunted cedars and arches festooned 
by clinging lichens. An army of cliff-dwellers might once 
have dwelt on that great slope. A mile wide and nearly 
as high was this one wall of belted gold, rugged, jutted, 
jagged, buttressed, terraced, and crowned by cornice of 
white crags. Only winged creatures could ever rest on those 
towering pinnacles. “They belonged to the condors and the 
clouds—towers like idols of the gods, golden at the base, 
white as clay above, with ruddy crowns pointing to the 
broad black belt of Nothsis Ahn, and the rose-white dome 
of snow. 

Wall columnar as the rolling lofty cloud of the sky! No- 
phaie gazed upward, lost in contemplation. Of all gifts 
the gift of sight was best. But the eye of mind saw into the 
infinite. And while he gazed the sun went on with its 
miracle of transfiguration. Life of color—spirit of glory— 
symbol of eternal change! This enchantment of a moment 
was the smile of nature. 

Nophaie pictured the wondrous scene from above; he 
imagined he had the eye of the soaring eagle. Underneath 
that strong vision lay the dark canyons, the red knolls, the 
golden walls, a broken world of waved bare stone. High 
on one of the rounded hills of rock stood a lonely, statuesque 
figure of man—the Indian—Nophaie—strange, pitifully lit- 
tle, a quivering atom among the colossal monuments of 
inanimate nature. He was the mystery of life thrown 
against that stark background of the age-old earth. Like 
a shipwrecked mariner on his spar-strewn sinking deck the 
Indian gazed up at the solid and enduring mountain. Bright 
stone-face of light! Silent wall with a thousand walls! 

All Nophaie’s profound worship of the elements, his mas- 
tery of will and stern projection of soul, his sublimity of 
hope, the intense cry of his spirit for light—more light— 
light of God like this glorious light of sun—left him stand- 
ing there on the height, alone in the solitude, with burden 
unlifted, with the passionless, pitiless, ruthless, all-pervading 
and all-concealing eyes of nature on him in his abasement. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 1g5 


Days passed into weeks and time was naught. ‘The north 
wind roared on Nothsis Ahn and storm clouds lodged there, 
black, with dropping gray veils. But down in the Canyon 
of Silent Walls there was neither winter cold nor wind. 
Nophaie sought the sunny walls and dreamed in their re- 
flected heat. Only one arm of the canyon still remained 
unexplored, and he had left that for some task of energy 
and action to fall back upon when his spirit ebbed low. 

One day, from far down the canyon, pealed and echoed 
the call of an Indian. It startled Nophaie. He had for- 
gotten the Pahute whom Withers was to send with supplies. 
He had forgotten that and more. Surely there would be 
news of the world beyond these silent walls, of the reserva- 
tion, and of the affairs at Mesa—last and most desired, word 
from Benow di cleash. 

Nophaie ran. It was with the fleetness of an Indian, but 
the gladness of a white man. Almost he scorned that eager- 
ness, that strange knocking at his heart. ‘The solitude he 
had sought seemed to stand out clearer now, an enemy to 
his intelligence. Lonely canyons were abodes for barbarians, 
savages, Indians—not for men with developed thought. ‘The 
work of white men should ever be to help the increasing prog- 
ress of the world toward better life. But he was not a white 
man. And as he ran his thoughts multiplied. 

Nophaie found the Pahute in the main arm of the canyon. 
He had brought a pack-mule heavily laden. Nophaie led 
him to his camp, and there unpacked the mule, and cooked 
a meal for the Indian, and learned from him that white 
policemen had sought him all over the reservation and had 
returned to Mesa. No other news had the Pahute, except 
that the trader at Kaidab had told him to get to Nophaie on 
this day. “Jesus Christ Day,’’ added the Indian with a 
grin. 

“Christmas!” exclaimed Nophaie, and strange indeed were 
his memories. 

The Pahute left early in the afternoon, saying he wanted 
to get over the Marching Rocks before nightfall. Nophaie 


196 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


was again alone. Yet how different the loneliness now! 
There were packets and packages in that pile of supplies 
which, despite their outside wrappings of burlap and paper, 
did not bear the hall-mark of an Indian trader. Nophaie 
felt rich. It struck him significantly that he was unutterably 
glad. But was it not a certainty of messages from Marian? 
That assuredly, yet he could not be sure it was all! Un- 
packing the heavier parcels first, Nophaie found that the 
trader had added considerable to the monthly order. ‘Then 
there was a bundle of lighter weight, more carefully packed, 
and inside was a tag upon which was written in English. 
“Merry Christmas from Withers’ outfit.” 

Nophaie tried to be annoyed at this, but he could not, 
and he found that what irritated him was the happy greeting 
in English. ‘I am an Indian,” muttered Nophaie. Yet he 
did not speak that in the Indian language. ‘‘Christmas gifts 
and greetings,” he added, “and I am glad.” Indian or not 
he could not help his feelings. It was kind of the Withers 
family to remember the educated Indian in his lonely soli- 
tude. Nophaie found cigarettes, matches, chocolate, raisins, 
a clasp knife, a little hand-ax, a large piece of tanned buck- 
skin with needles and thread, and woolen socks and a flannel 
shirt. Withers had guessed his needs and had added 
luxuries. 

Then with hasty fingers Nophaie opened the smallest 
packet that he somehow knew was from Marian. Inside the 
heavy paper was more paper, and inside that waterproof 
cloth, and inside this a silken scarf all neatly folded round a 
soft flat object. Nophaie unfolded the scarf to behold a 
large clean thick white envelope upon which had been 
written one word: Nophaie. Marian’s handwriting! A 
thrill went over him. “There were illusions, but also there 
were realities. No moment of life that did not bring happi- 
ness to some mortal! 

He put the letter aside, and opened the second packet, 
larger, flatter, more strongly wrapped, incased in pasteboard. 
He expected to find a photograph and was not disappointed. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 197 


But before he opened the cover out dropped an envelope 
containing snap-shot pictures of Marian taken at Mesa with 
her own camera. ‘The best picture was one of her rid- 


ing the white mustang he had given her. They were all 


good, yet not one of them seemed like the image he had in 
memory. ‘The desert was hard on Marian. But when 
Nophaie opened the large envelope he saw a beautiful like- 
ness of the fair face he loved and remembered so well. This 
was a fine photograph, taken in Philadelphia, probably some 
time after he had left the East. 

“Benow di cleash!” he murmured, and all the white 
flower-like fairness seemed to flash in a beautiful light from 
that pictured face. Gazing, he forgot everything for a 
while. 

When he went back to his packages he found books, 
magazines, late newspapers, pads and pencils and envelopes, 
a small hunter’s sewing kit, a box of medicines, bandages, 
candy, nuts and cakes, and last of all, a watch with radium 
numerals, and a buckskin fob decorated with Nopah but- 
tons. She had not forgotten to include in all this loving 
munificence some token of the Indian. ‘That thrilled him 
as nothing else had. 

One by one he handled these gifts and pondered over the 
effect they had upon him. Beyond peradventure of doubt 
these established the connection between him and the world 
of white people. Eighteen years of his life, the forming and 
fixing period, had developed to such things as these, and 
not those of the red man. He might starve naked in a cave 
of the canyons, with nothing representative of the white 
race near him, but that could not change facts. He loved 
Marian Warner. Her gifts made him happy. ‘The iso- 
lated solitudes of the desert were good for his soul and body, 
but they could never wholly satisfy. 


CHAPTER XVI 


OPHAIE carried Marian’s letter to his favorite rest- 

ing and dreaming place. Not on the heights did he 

care to read her message, but in the amber shadow of the 
Silent Walls. 

This place was a strange one, a narrow section of canyon, 
where the west wall leaned to meet the cavernous eastern 
wall, the lofty red rims of which showed a blue ribbon of 
sky above. Here the canyon turned sharply to the left and 
then to the right, giving a strange impression of stupendous 
leaning walls. At the base of the cavernous cliff ran the 
murmuring stream of clear green water. Banks of moss and 
grass stood out from the wall, dry, odorous, and gray. ‘The 
leaves of the cottonwoods were not yet devoid of their 
autumn hue. And sound here was weird, hollow, ringing, 
melodious, and echoes magnified all. Nophaie found his 
accustomed seat and with mounting beat of heart he opened 
Marian’s letter. Was he really there—lonely outcast Nopah 
in the solitude of a silent canyon—holding in his hands the 
fetter of a noble and loving woman of a hated race? 


Dearest NopHAIE: 

Greetings on your Christmas Day! I could not be happy 
without sending to you my greeting, and love, and my gifts. 
May these find you well. May they assure you at least of the 
constancy of Benow di cleash. I shall not be able even on 
Christmas Day to believe wholly in the spirit: “Peace on 
earth— good will to man.” Not when the one I love, whom I 
know is worthy, lies hidden in the wilds, persecuted by men 
of my color! 

If I could write you a whole volume I would never be able 
to crowd in all. My dismissal came quite some time after your 

198 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 199 


visit. In fact, I ran the office until Blucher and Morgan came 
out of seclusion. Then I got the “steam-roller” all right and 
without my month’s pay. I’m grateful for that, because it 
gives me an excuse to go back to the office, which I have done 
regularly since I came here to stay with the Paxtons. They 
are very kind to me, and allow me to pay my board. I help 
in the trading store sometimes and thus I keep up my study 
of the Indians. Here I get another angle on the reservation. 

As far as I am able to tell, nothing has yet leaked out in 
Mesa about that football match you had with Blucher and 
Morgan. I will never get over that day. Never will I trust 
myself again. If you were an Indian, I was a savage. I just 
swelled and tingled and burned with fiendish glee every time 
you kicked one of the—footballs. My only regret rises from 
the fact that I never saw you play real football in the college 
games that made you famous. 

My last interview with Blucher and Morgan was a night- 
mare. Blucher was poison. Morgan tried to intimidate me 
and drive me off the reservation. He said—but never mind 
what he said. The Indian police have returned from their 
search for you, I imagine. You will do well to lie low for 
awhile. ‘There is a seething volcano under this particular part 
of the reservation. “The Woltersons expect dismissal any day. 
All communication to Wolterson comes through the superin- 
tendent. Why, I could run this reservation better than it is 
run. The whole Indian Service, if judged by this arm of it, 
is merely a gigantic political machine. But that you know. 

I suspect that Blucher is greatly concerned about the pos- 
sibility of the U. S. being drawn .into war with Germany. 
There is indeed a grave possibility of that very thing. You will 
see the latest news in the papers I send. “These came to-day 
with the mail carrier from Flagerstown. Read them carefully. 
You may be a Nopah, but you are also an American. One of 
the truest of Americans—the red-blooded species. German 
- militarism threatens not only the peace of the world, but also 
the freedom. If war is declared I trust you will tell the truth 
to every Nopah on this reservation. For I absolutely know 
that Blucher will oppose any Indian help to the United States 
army. I read a letter he wrote to a German in New York. 
He was typing it himself and when some one called him J read 


200 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


it. If I could only have secured a copy of it or have remem- 
bered it. But I was excited—shocked. Blucher is all German. 
If war is declared the situation here on this reservation will 
be a terrible one. Think how to meet that, Nophaie. 

I have seen Gekin Yashi but once. She was in the school 
yard near the fence as I passed on my way here from Wolter- 
sons’. I got close to her before she saw me. Her face has 
altered strangely. It gave me a pang. For a second I felt 
that I could tear and rend. . . . When she espied me she ran. 
I called, but she paid no heed. 

The Indian girl who was put in the maternity hospital 
here recently, gave birth to a child. She will be sent to River- 
side—separated from her baby under the mandate of studying 
for five years before she can have it. Indian women Jove their 
babies. I hear Blucher has sent the father to jail. Various and 
weird the law of this reservation school! 

I have no plans. I am waiting. You may be sure I'll not 
leave the reservation. I might be taken off, but they'll have 
to carry me. ‘This winter is no great problem. I need rest 
and I want to write some. Later, if nothing comes up here, 
I might go out to Kaidab. In the spring I hope to see you, 
I want you to know that I meant what I said in Blucher’s 
office the day you confronted him and Morgan there. I would 
be happy to marry you and share what I have with you, and 
your life and work among your people. I have the means 
for a start. And we can work. I ask only that we spend 
some part of each year in California or the East. I have 
vanity enough not to let myself dry up in this desert air and 
blow away! 

Time and trouble change character, do they not? I am the 
stronger for what has come to me out here. ‘The desert is 
terrible. It destroys and then builds. I never knew what light 
was—the wonderful sun—and wind and dust and heat—stars 
and night and silence—the great emptiness—until I came to the 
desert. Perhaps so with love! 

Somehow I will endure the long silence, for you must not — 
risk writing me yet. I will dream of you—see you among the 
rocks. Always, as long as I live, rocks and walls of stone will 
have thrilling and sad significance for me. 

BENOW DI CLEASH. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 201 


Nophaie gazed in seeming terror at the stupendous wall 
of stone opposite. He could not see either of its corners or 
its base. Solid rock, impenetrable and immovable and in- 
surmountable! ‘The temptation that confronted him now 
was just as much a wall, a barrier, an overpowering weight. 

Benow di cleash loved him. She would marry him. She 
would share all she had as she would share his life. Live 
with him! Belong to him alone! 

The fact was a staggering blow. Here under the accus- 
ing eyes of his silent walls he had feeling that no other place 
could inspire. Loneliness had augmented his hunger for a 
mate. Nature importuned him for her right. And sud- 
denly Nophaie found himself stripped bare of all ideals, 
chivalries, duties, of the false sophistries of his education, of 
the useless fetters of his unbelief. 

Human being, man, Indian, savage, primitive beast—so 
he retrograded in the scale. As a human he aspired to 
martyrdom, as a man he sacrificed love, as an Indian he 
steeped his soul in noble exaltation, as a savage he felt only 
the fierce race of hot blood, as a primitive beast he struggled 
in the throes of hereditary instincts, raw and wild, ungov- 
ernable—the imperious and inscrutable law of nature. 

While he lay motionless on that mossy bank it seemed the 
elemental—the natural—the mindless automaton of living 
flesh must win. ‘There was nothing else in life. ‘This stag- 
gering bundle of nerves, vessels, organs, blood, and bone that 
constituted his body had millions of cells, each one of 
which clamored for its right to completion, expression, re- 
production. Death to cell, organ, body, individual, but life 
to the species! ‘This instinct that Nophaie strove to kill 
was the strangest of all forces in the universe. 

One terrible moment Nophaie lay there under the walls 
that seemed to thunder the meaning of nature. “Then he 
sprang up to force this living body of his, this vehicle he 
abhorred, this beating, burning frame of blood-veined muscle, 
into violent and sustained effort, into exhausting physical 
activity that must bring subjugation of the instincts which 


202 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


threatened his downfall. He must win now—in this hour— 
or lose forever. “Thought, reflection, reason, argument— 
these faded in his consciousness like pale vapors of mist when 
the blazing sun rose. Before he could think he must sub- 
due something in him, hydra-headed, multiple-lunged, insa- 
tiate instinct to project his life into another life. Nophaie 
refused that species of self-preservation. If it was instinct 
that maddened him and instinct that he fought, it was also 
instinct that sent him out to move, to run, to climb. 

There were none of his race to see him, to bring their 
medicine men to exorcise the evil spirits which possessed 
him. Only the silent walls had eyes to watch him in his 
terror. 

Nophaie ran. He leaped the brook. From bowlder to 
bowlder he bounded. Along the grassy benches, under the 
looming ledges, over the washes, through the thickets, up 
the canyon he sped with that incomparable stride of the In- 
dian runner trained under the great masters of college ath- 
letics. Strange place for the famous athlete who had 
delighted the crowds—who had heard their trampling, peal- 
ing roar when he ran! ‘The white man had trained him— 
the white man had educated him. But it was now the 
Indian nature that gave Nophaie the instinct to run away 
from himself. 

He halted at his camp long enough to lay aside the pre- 
cious letter from Benow di cleash. He did not want to soil 
that white paper with its beautiful and appalling words of 
love. All his life he must keep them. And he feared them 
now. Again the shuddering of his flesh, the burning of the © 
marrow of his bones. Out he ran—straight for the notch 
of the canyon—with wild eyes on the white-towered wall of 
Nothsis Ahn. No Indian had ever surmounted that wall. 
But Nophaie would surmount it or perish in the attempt. 
To see afar over the desert, to pray and to absolve himself, — 
the Indian had always climbed high. 

Nophaie’s moccasined feet padded softly over the bare 
stone slope. He ran up the long wavy red mound, and — 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 203 


from its round dome, where often he had watched the eagles 
and the sunset, he put his keen vision to the task of finding 
a way to climb the north face of Nothsis Ahn. ‘There were 
a hundred intricate zigzag ascents up that mountain wall, 
not one of which seemed possible for man. 

Down the waved knoll Nophaie ran, light and sure as a 
wildcat, and over the wide area of bare rock to the main 
base of the wall. 

‘There he began to climb in a long slant, up the brown 
smooth incline, veined and striped, and around the headed 
corners, and back to a long slant in the other direction, up 
and up by these zigzag courses, to the curved and rolling 
rim of red, where began the vast slow heave of the white 
amphitheater. 

All this slope was wind-swept, bare, soft to the foot, a 
white stone that disintegrated under force; and it was like 
a rolling sea slanted on end. Levels, mounds, benches, 
ridges, holes, gorges, all rounded and smooth, with never 
a crack or cutting edge or loosened fragment, passed by under 
Nophaie’s swift steps. Impetuosity and passion drove him. 
He climbed on, gradually slowing to the steeper ascent. 
From far below this white amphitheater had appeared what 
it was not. Its dimensions magnified with approach. A line 
of cleavage seen from below was on nearer view a great wide 
dip in the ocean slope of rock. Nophaie’s detours consumed 
miles of travel. ‘To and fro across the corrugated face of 
this mountain wall he traveled, always climbing higher. A 
rare cold atmosphere, thin in oxygen, further slowed his ef- 
forts. Climbing grew hard. He no longer ran. He 
sweat, he burned, he panted. He saw only the stone under 
his feet and the gray looming towers above, still seemingly 
as unattainable as ever. 

Along the last circling ledge of the amphitheater he worked 
around to the bold rugged bluff, surmounted it, and climbed 
into a world of cliffs, precipices, promontories, sharp and 
jagged and jutting in strange contrasts to the waved and 
heaved ascent he had accomplished. Here he had exercise 


204 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


for the eye of an eagle, the leap of a mountain sheep, the 
sure-footedness of a goat. Far back on the other side of 
the towers he worked, finding them still high above him, 
still unscalable. On and upward he toiled, and at last 
reached a point where the huge white-towered abutment 
joined the bulk of Nothsis Ahn. Nothing of this was 
visible to eye below in the valley. He had ascended to the 
white crags that stood out and up to hide all but the dome 
of the mountain. Nophaie pulled himself up, he let himself 
down, he leaped fissures, he crept along abysmal chasms blue 
in depth, he rimmed the base of crags, and climbed around 
and between them. 

Out of the zone of white pillars and turrets at last! Level 
with the nests of eagles! Nophaie stood at the base of the 
weathered slope of Nothsis Ahn, the track of the avalanches, 
the tilted level of loose rocks; and he looked almost straight 
up to the green band of timber and the glistening dome of 
snow. If climbing had been difficult and hazardous before, 
now it was approaching the impossible. Nophaie sent the 
rocks sliding below him; he started the slides into avalanches. 
He loosened the slopes above him. He performed miracles 
of agility, speed, and endurance. Like the Indian masters 
of the legends, he consorted with eagles, bounded with the 
feet of the wind, and swung on the edges of the clouds. 

Snow and spruce halted Nophaie, a forest of evergreens, 
matted and webbed into impenetrable windfalls, buried deep 
in the white ice of the heights. He could not go higher. 
At the edge of the snow line, on a gray brow of rock, he 
built a monument, so that it would be visible to eye of Indian 
from below. But he offered no prayer to the god of the 
mountain. 

In the piercing cold of that altitude, blown upon by the 
strong northwind, Nophaie gazed out and down upon the 
naked earth below. Dim, abysmal, obscure the depths from 
which he had toiled! Beauty and color were naught. Dis- 
tance was lost. “The great canyons were dark purple threads. 
Over all the immensity of ghastly desert brooded a spirit 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 205 


of desolation and death and decay. ‘The sun blazed down a 
terrible truthfulness of light. 

What Nophaie had climbed so desperately for seemed 
never to have been. He had spent the forces of his nature— 
the physical instincts. For that hour, perhaps forever, he 
had conquered. On the heights came a regurgitation of emo- 
tion, a flashing back of thought. There was blood on the 
worn edges of his moccasins; his finger nails were worn to the » 
quick. ‘The ache in his bones, the pang in his lungs, the 
deadness of his muscles attested to the nature of that climb. 
Hours could be measured as years! 


Long after dark that night Nophaie dragged his bruised 
and weary body into camp, there to crawl into his bed and 
stretch his limbs, as if never to move them again. Sleep 
and rest, for days and nights, restored his strength, yet he 
knew that climb had been the supreme physical effort of his 
life. The strain of a hard football game had been as 
nothing. A hundred-mile run across the desert had been 
as nothing. Likewise Nophaie realized that he could never 
again climb the north wall of Nothsis Ahn. Powerful, fleet, 
sure, agile, enduring, keen-sighted and Indian-sinewed as he 
was, these faculties did not alone account for that super- 
human task. ‘The very inspiration for the climb had re- 
ceded somehow, dimmed and paled back into the secret and 
mystic springs of his nature. But as the days and nights 
multiplied in the shadow of the silent walls Nophaie learned 
that the noble proof of his love for Marian was not in sur- 
render to it. He would not drag her down to his level. 
Utterly impossible for him was a life among white men. 
He had been wronged, robbed, deprived of his inheritance. 
He saw the incredible brutality and ruthlessness of white 
men toward his race. He saw that race vanishing. He 
was the Vanishing American. He had no God, no religion, 
no hope. ‘That strange hope born there in the canyon had 
been burned out in the fire kindled by Marian’s offer of love. 


206 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nature had fostered that hope. It had deluded him. It 
had been a veiled beautiful face lifted to him. 

The silent walls heard Nophaie’s denial—and how strange 
a light gleamed on their faces! Benow di cleash loved him 
and he must break her heart. But grief would give her 
strength that his burden could never give. Nature in her 
inscrutable way had drawn Nophaie and the white girl to- 
gether; and no doubt that merciless Nature divined a union 
which would further her evolutional designs. Nature recog- 
nized no religion, no God. Nature desired only birth, re- 
production, death, in every living creature. Love was the 
blind and imperious tool of Nature. How could that love 
endure with age and death? 

Days passed into weeks and weeks into months. ‘Three 
times the Pahute came, and three times a white, thick 
letter stormed Nophaie’s soul—yet left him stronger. 

He measured the passing of winter by the roar of wind 
on the slope of Nothsis Ahn, by the circling back of the 
sun, by the earlier dawns, by the hot days and the peeping 
of frogs at nightfall. He lived that swiftly flying time in 
his simple camp tasks, in wandering and climbing as if the 
unattainable would one day be his, in dreaming of Marian 
and writing thoughts and experiences for her, in study of 
the nature of his stone-walled retreat. 

Not until a late day of his sojourn there did he explore 
the one remaining arm of canyon. What was his amaze 
and regret to find it beyond comparison with any of the 
others. 

Three miles or more of exceedingly rough travel brought 
Nophaie to a point where this canyon changed its color, its 
height and width, its bed, its skyline, its every feature. 
Nophaie named it “Canyon of Gleams.” Its hue was the 
strange one of pale marble in the moonlight; its height 
sheerly perpendicular and incredible; its width six feet at 
the base, gradually widening in V-shape to perhaps fifty 
feet at the top; its bed was solid, smooth, grayish rock hard 
as iron, worn into deep smooth ruts by the rushing stream; 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN ~ 207 


and its skyline was a long, even, straight lane of blue as far 
as Nophaie could see. No bird, no lizard, no beetle or bee, 
no frog or insect, no living creature or sprig of vegetation 
crossed Nophaie’s vision. ‘The hollow, reverberating, mock- 
ing voice of the stream was the only sound that could be 
heard. There was no wind. The uneven stream bed 
gleamed, the water gleamed, the walls gleamed, the band of 
sky gleamed. 

Nophaie penetrated this gigantic split in the vast bulk of 
rock until his progress was impeded by a further narrowing 
of the canyon and a depth of water that would make it 
necessary to swim if he went on. By placing a foot on each 
wall and hitching himself up Nophaie reached a height from 
which he could see that the canyon extended a long way, 
with increasing obstacles. Did he hear a faint roar of 
waterfall? He determined to swim through there some 
day when the water lost its edge of ice. 

This Canyon of Gleams grew to have an insatiable fas- 
cination for Nophaie. He wandered there often, never to 
find it altogether the same. “The hollow bellow of water 
never changed. But all else! No direct sunlight ever pene- 
trated that colossal rent. At night it was so black he had 
to feel his way out to the open part. Afternoon seemed the 
most wonderful there, by reason of some conformation of 
the rims above reflecting a thick, rich, tangible, gleaming 
light with tinge of gold. The gleams of water and wall 
Were as mutable as the shades of sunset. Here Nophaie 
felt least the encroachment of the white man, the domi- 
nance of his knowledge, the loss of faith, the sacrifice of 
love, the imminence of unabatable grief. 

The vast walls pressed close upon him, to give him the 
fear they might suddenly slip together and bury him for- 
ever in the bowels of the rock-ribbed earth. “They were not 
dead things, these walls. They had a spiritual power, and 
were more beautiful than paintings. Indeed they seemed to 
be painted windows through which the soul of nature 
gleamed. Silent—always silent to Nophaie yet full of 


208 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


unuttered sounds! The Indian in him was comrade of 
the rocks. ‘The earth was his mother. And all the sands 
of the sea and grains of the desert were rock, the vast up- 
heaved magnificence of Nothsis Ahn was rock, and the des- 
ert. [he earth itself was rock, and rock its foundations. 
Therefore the solid wall was his mother and the gleams 
were her smiles and the silence her unutterable voices. 

Spring! ‘The water of the brook swelled and lost its 
green for hint of yellow; the frogs changed their peeping 
to solemn croak and sweeter trill. The white primrose and 
the lavender daisy bloomed in sunny places. Blades of grass 
shot up as if by magic and the cottonwoods lost their gray. 
Nophaie grew restive. ‘The hold of the silent walls lessened. 
In him were contending tides. Silence and solitude had 
dragged him to the verge. Forgetfulness, and the thought- 
lessness of the Indian, had closely infringed upon his mem- 
ory. Nature had importuned with all her insidious and su- 
preme mastery over the senses. Hate and unbelief had 
trampled in vain on his soul. He was still free. 

The day came when a loud call awoke the drowsy echoes 
of the silent canyon. It startled Nophaie. “That had not 
been the voice of an Indian. Had the long solitude worked 
upon his mind? Nophaie ran to the wide gateway between 
the red walls. He saw horses, mules with packs, an Indian 
—and then out from the shade of a cedar strode Withers, 
mopping his heated face. 

“Howdy, Nophaie!” he said, with smile and earnest gaze. 
“You look fine.” 

Nophaie stirred to the warmth of the trader’s close hand- 
clasp. He returned it and that was all his response. Utter- 
ance seemed difficult. Long had his voice been silent. Be- 
sides, Withers bore a look of intense strain. He was thin- 
ner, older. A suppressed passion seemed rampant in him. 

“Come out of the sun,” said Withers, turning. “It’s 
hot and I’ve ridden hard.” 

Nophaie followed him to a seat on a flat rock in the 
shade. ‘The moment seemed to hinge on strange events. 





A LOUD CALL AWOKE THE DROWSY ECHOES OF THE SILENT 
CANYON. NOPHAIE RAN TO THE GATEWAY BETWEEN THE WALLS. 
HE SAW HORSES, MULES WITH PACKS, AN INDIAN 









| LIBRARY , Vegi 
et a UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
URBANA 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 209 


The trader’s presence might mean that which must add to 
Nophaie’s burden. 

“Throw saddles and packs right here,” said Withers to 
the Indian who had come with him. ‘“Nophaie, where is 
your horse?” 

“Gone,” replied Nophaie. “I have not seen him for a 
long time.” 

“T figured on that and I fetched one for you.” 

“Withers, why did you bring me a horse?” queried No- 
phaie, conscious of an inward tremor. 

“Because I think you’ll hit the trail back with me,” re- 
plied the trader, significantly. 

“Has anything happened to Marian? 

“Sure—a lot’s happened. But she’s O.K.—well and fine.” 

“Withers, it’s a long rough ride here. You’ve got a 
strong reason for coming yourself. Tell me.” 

“Strong! Wal, it sure is strong,” retorted the trader, 
grimly. 

“Why did you come?” demanded Nophaie. 

“Warl”’ flashed Withers. 

In one bound Nophaie was on his feet, transfixed and 
thrilling. 

“No!” he exclaimed. 

“Yes, by God!” returned the other, and he too rose from 
his seat. A steel-gray flinty light shone from his eyes. 

‘““Germany—and the United States?” 

“Nophaie, you’ve said it!” 

“Blucher—and the Indians?” Nophaie’s voice was quick 
and ringing. 

“T haven’t a damned word to say about Blucher,”’ burst 
out Withers, passionately. ‘“‘But I’ll tell you a few facts 
outside the reservation. . . . Germany sunk the Lusitania 
with American men, women, and children aboard. . . . She 
has torpedoed American trading vessels—threatened and bul- 
lied President Wilson—insulted the American flag... . 
Then she sent submarines to our very shores. ... The 
President and Congress have declared war!” 


210 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nophaie recalled Marian’s letters. Certain passages now 
seemed limned on his memory in letters of fire!—German 
militarism! Downfall of civilization! Death of freedom! 
Slavery of Americans !—By every right and law and heritage 
he—Nophaie—was the first and best blood of America. 
The depths of his whole soul roused to strange fierce passion. 

Withers held out a shaking hand. 

“My son has gone,” he said, thickly. ‘Already! . . 
He did not wait for the draft.” 

“Draft! What is that?” 

“A new law. A war law. Every young man between 
twenty-one and thirty-one is called to army and navy—to 
fight for his country.” 

“Will this draft affect the Indians?’ queried Nophaie, 
sharply. 

“No. They can’t be drafted. But the government has 
appealed to all Indians to register. “hat means, as I under- 
stand it, an enrolling of the names and numbers of Indians— 
their horses and stock, so that the government can have this 
information for reference—for some use that is not clear to 
me. We're all drawn into the war—whites and Indians. 
But no Indian can be compelled to go to war.” 

“Can they go if they want?” 

“Yes. And the call is strong for Indians to enlist.” 

“T will gol’ 

Withers forced that shaking hand down on Nophaie’s 
shoulder, where it gripped hard. For an instant speech was 
beyond him. How strange the agitation of his rugged face! 
‘The unplumbed passions of the man had been upheaved. 

“Nophaie, you don’t have to enlist. You owe nothing 
to the people of the United States. “They have wronged 
you.” 

“T am an American,” replied Nophaie sonorously. 

“I didn’t come to ask you to go to war,’ responded 
Withers, in earnest passion. “But I came to tell you this 
. . . the Nopahs are being lied to. “They do not under- 
stand the idea of registering. “They are being made to be- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © art 


lieve it is a ruse, a trick to get their names, their thumb 
marks on paper. ‘They are being deceived into believing this 
register is only another white man lie—and if they sign they 
can be drafted. . . . Old Etenia met me on the way here. 
He said: ‘If the Big Chief at Washington wants my young 
braves for war why did he not ask them to go? The No- 
pahs have been warriors. But never have they been forced 
to fight.’ Another old Indian said, “Let the Germans kill 
all the Americans. “Then we can get our land back and live 
in peace. . . . Nophaie, this tribe of yours numbers over 
twenty thousand. ‘They must not be made to believe they 
can be unjustly driven to war. ‘The truth must be told 
them. ‘This false rumor of government treachery—this 
damned propaganda must not spread further.” 

Nophaie understood why the trader’s lips were sealed as 
to what he knew. Marian had prepared Nophaie for under- 
standing of this fostering of hostility among the Indians. 

“TY will tell the Nopahs the truth,” he said. “I will take 
Indians with me to war.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


ING bade a long farewell to his Canyon of 
Silent Walls. At the eastern portal—high above the 
narrow defile between ragged cliffs—he gazed down at the 
green valley with its wavy confines of red, and fixed that 
picture on his memory forever. A faint cold sensation— 
was it tremor or sinking of heart? went over him. Was it 
mystic portent that he would never again dream under those 
silent gleaming walls? He cast out the vague thought. 
He and Withers made a record ride to the camp of the 
Pahutes, where they stayed overnight. Nophaie began his 
work there. None of the few Pahute men present, however, 
came within the prescribed limits of the war demands. 

Another day brought Nophaie and the trader across 
the upland sage to the range of Etenia. The old Nopah 
had sons and relatives, and more horses and cattle than — 
any other Indian in this quarter of the reservation. It was 
important that he be persuaded to accede to the act Withers | 
had called registration. 

Nophaie found himself received with a respect and defer- 
ence. It augured well for the success of his new work | 
among the Indians. Nophaie sought council with Etenia, 
which was granted; and the old Indian asked the honor of — 
the trader’s presence. Nophaie had gone over in mind an — 
exhortation he believed to be honest, eloquent, and persuasive, _ 
and which he believed would appeal to the Indians. This 
he delivered to Etenia with all the force he could muster. | 

The old Nopah smoked in silence. He had been deeply 
impressed, and could not at once reply to such a strong | 
discourse. At last he spoke. 

“Nophaie sees with the mind of the white man—far and — 
212 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 213 


wide. He should sit in the councils of the Nopahs. Etenia 
believes and will register his name. He will sell cattle and 
horses to the government. He will say to his sons—‘One 
of you shall go fight for America, for the white people, 
for the land where they keep us.’ Etenia will say his sons 
shall draw lots for him who is to go to war.” 

That night Etenia had all his sons and relatives at his 
hogan in honor of Nophaie and to hear him speak. He 
ordered a feast to which Withers was invited. They ate 
and made merry and sang. ‘Then the old Nopah rose to 
address the assembly. He was solemn and austere, darkly 
impassive, chieftainly in his dignity. 

*“‘Sons—and sons of my people—Etenia has come to many 
years. He has worked hard and he is rich. He owes no 
white man so much as a silver button. He owes no Indian. 
. . - Etenia has not the wisdom of the gods. He cannot 
heal like the medicine men. Etenia’s age makes him want 
to trust younger men. ‘Therefore has he heeded Nophaie. 

“Our white Father at Washington has declared war on a 
wicked people far across the broad water where the sun 
rises. “These wicked people are warriors. "They have long 
worked at the arts of war—they have long made guns and 
bullets and powder to prepare for war... . For three 
years now they have fought their neighbors—the white peo- 
ples who have sought to live in peace. And they are driving 
these good peoples out of their homes, killing men, women, 
and children. ‘They will win the war unless our white 
Father at Washington sends many young warriors across 
the broad waters. 

“Lies have been told us. Etenia’s sons do not have to 
go to war. The white men who have spread such lies are 
snakes in the grass. ‘Their forefathers belonged to that 
wicked people who practice war. They are not Americans. 
They are not friends of the Indian. 

“Etenia’s people are asked to register—to give their 
names to the government—and the number of their horses 
and cattle. LEtenia believes Nophaie and the white trader. 


214. THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


These men are not liars. Nophaie will ride over the ranges 
to carry truth to those who are being deceived. Etenia will 
register and he tells his sons and all Indians to+ follow in 
his footsteps. He will give one of his sons to go to war 
with Nophaie.” 

Then Nophaie rose to make his address, deeply stirred 
by the words of Etenia. And with ringing voice he damned 
the evil force at work on the reservation, and brought home 
to the dark, still-faced Nopahs the truth of the real danger 
that menaced them. He did not appeal directly to the 
Indians to enlist. But he finished his speech with a trench- 
ant statement of his own stand. 

‘“Nophaie will go to war. Nophaie and all the Nopahs 
are the first of Americans. He will fight for them. And he 
will believe he is fighting no more for the white people than 
he is fighting for the Indian and his land.” 

When lots were drawn among the sons of Etenia it 
turned out that the youngest, the favorite of the old Nopah, 
the joy of his declining years, must be the one to go with 
Nophaie. 

“Etenia says it is well,” declared the father, with lofty 
pride. 


At Kaidab there was a crowd of Indians, and an unrest 
and excitement totally new and strange to the trading post. | 

Nophaie found the white people stirred and upset, under 
the stress of an emotion that none could control. Nophaie 
talked with all of them. ‘The trader’s wife showed the 
strain of worry, and a mother’s fear for her son, and a sup- 
pressed anger and concern over the Indian situation. The 
Indians were excited. “They collected in little groups and 
talked. Every hour saw more Nopahs ride into the trading 
post, and Nophaie found them sullen, distrustful, and hard 
to approach. But for his late rise to the dignity of one 
worth listening to he could not have gotten their ear at 
all. A subtle and powerful influence had been at work 
among them. Nophaie had guessed its origin and he dis- 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN ats 


-covered how and by whom it was being propagated. He 
realized at once that he had been too late to influence the 
Indians in a body and would have a difficult task to persuade 
them to register, let alone go to war. Nevertheless, he did 
not allow this unfortunate circumstance to deter him from 
his great task. 
| At the outset of his activities he encountered Shoie, the 
| binder of evil spells on Indian women. Nophaie was about 
to pass him in contempt. But suddenly he halted. ‘This 
Indian was young, strong, a keen scout, a wonderful breaker 
and tracker of horses. His mentality might be one to adapt 
; itself readily to war. Nophaie meant to leave no stone 
unturned. 
| “Shoie, I am going to fight for the Americans,” he said, 
/in the Nopah tongue. “You are a warrior. Will you go 
with me?” 
_ “Shoie will fight for Nophaie,” replied the Indian, with 
_a gleam in his dark eyes. 

For days Nophaie haunted the trading post and impor- 
tuned the visiting Indians. His dogged efforts earned suc- 
cess, but nothing that satisfied him. Always he gained the 
attention and the respect now due him; only he encountered 

_the wall of doubt that, once raised in an Indian’s mind, was 
almost impossible to break down. One old Nopah said, 
“All white man are liars!’ Another Indian said, ‘““No white 

' man can lie to me twice.” 

The government idea of registration met with subtle and 
powerful check. Nophaie could not learn from any Indian 
just what was the content of the hostile propaganda. He 

/ guessed, however, that the idea of registering had been falsely 
represented to the Indians, and it was just such an idea that 
would stick in their minds. 

Nophaie decided that it would be wise for him to ride 
out over the reservation and head off this German propa- 
ganda. He had intended that in any event, but now he 

saw he must make haste. Yet he was loath to abandon Kai- 








216 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


dab with only seventeen Indian names promised for registra- 
tion and but three for service. Withers’s comment on this 
was significant. 

“‘Nophaie, you’ve done well.” 

At this juncture Nophaie received another letter from 
Marian, and it acted as a spur. Affairs were at white heat 
in Mesa—all relative to the war. Nophaie must do his 
utmost to counteract German influence among the Indians. 
Marian knew he would do his noblest and then go to 
France to fight for his country. She had spent some time 
at Flagerstown and was as well and strong as she had ever 
been. ‘There now would surely be work for her on the 
reservation. The war had opened avenues for women. But 
whatever work fell to her lot, he was to understand that she 
would come to him, if he could not come to her, before he 
went to training camp. Somehow her words made Nophaie’s 
heart swell with the thought of the part he could play for 
her in war. | 

And there was a concluding passage in the letter that 
made his blood boil in fury against the sordid malignity of 
those in control at Mesa. Nophaie read this passage over 
again. 





My beautiful white mustang, Nopah, is dead! He had to bel 
shot. Oh! it nearly broke my heart! . . . Wolterson has been | 
compelled to make blood tests for riberonteeae in Indian horses. 
He said he never would have touched Nopah. But Blucher 
saw my horse and ordered the test. Wolterson made it and 
reported Nopah’s blood perfectly healthy. All the same, Rhur 
came over and shot him. 







Nophaie rode out into the desert on his mission, and few 
were the hogans he missed. It would be impossible for hi 
to cover all of the reservation, and he did not have many 
weeks before he must report for service. But he rode fast, 
far, and late. Most of the Nopahs in that vicinity now had 
heard of his stand and were ready to listen to him. Every 
name added to his list strengthened his cause. Slowly the 

5 
: 


f Mf 
ne 
¥ 
3 


i 


way 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 217 


list grew and with it his influence. If only he could have 
forestalled the German! Nophaie thrilled to his heart. 
He could have led a regiment of Nopahs—strong, young, 
fierce, hard-riding desert-bred Indians to war. “The thought 
of being too late was sickening. It goaded him on to ride 
faster and farther to find Nopahs who had not been deceived. 

One after another, as the days passed swiftly, he found 
young braves who would be guided by him. He gave these 
instructions and knew they would keep their word. Of the 
hundreds of Nopahs he approached, only one here and there 
would listen. ‘Those who yielded to his persuasion were 
mostly free young men, sick of reservation life and restric- 
tion. Grateful for their falling in line to swell his list, 
Nophaie rode on and on. Many a mustang he left spent at 
a hogan in exchange for another willingly lent him. Never 
a Nopah but accorded him welcome at nightfall. His quest 
was that of a warrior and a chieftain, even though his people 
could not follow him. 

Thus as time flew by, fleet as the hoofs of Nophaie’s mus- 
tangs, he gradually worked into territory new to him, far 
across the great mesa to the east, where he was not known. 
Here he had less trouble to find converts, but the country 
was more sparsely inhabited. “The active propaganda had 
not taken root among these Nopahs. 

One afternoon near sunset Nophaie reached a small trad- 
ing post kept by a squaw man. ‘The last Indian Nophaie 
had interrogated had bidden him ride in haste to this post. 
Mustangs exceeding a score in number were standing hal- 
tered and loose before the squat red-stone house. But no 
Indians were in sight. Dismounting, Nophaie went to 
the door and looked in. He saw the backs and black-banded 
sombreros of a crowd of Indians all attentive to the presence 
of a white man sitting on the high counter. ‘That white 
man was Jay Lord. 

Nophaie stole in unobserved and kept behind the Indians. 
He listened. Lord was lighting a cigarette. Evidently he 
had either paused in his harangue or had not yet begun. 


218 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


The careless air of the erstwhile Jay Lord seemed wanting. © 


Nonchalance did not rest upon his round, dark face this day. : 
Indeed, Nophaie was quick to grasp a weary and furtive irri- © 
tation. And the strain that showed in all white men’s eyes — 


these days was not wanting in Lord’s. 
“Indians, listen,” began Lord, in fluent Nopah. “Blucher 
has sent me out all over the reservation to tell you not to 


register. Don’t put your names or thumb marks on any 


paper. If you do your horses and cattle will be taken and 


you will have to go to war. ‘There’s no law to compel © 


Indians to fight. You can’t be forced to go. But if you 
sign papers—if you register—the government will have you 
bound. Then you’ve got to go. This register order is not 
what it seems. It’s an old government trick to fool you. 
You’ve been fooled before. Listen to your real friends and 
don’t register.” 

When he concluded his harangue there followed an im- 
pressive silence. “Then an old Nopah, lean and wrinkled and 
somber, addressed the speaker. 

“Let the white man tell why Blucher sends him. If the 
government lies to the Indians—to make warriors of them— 
then Blucher lies too, for he is the government.” 

“Blucher is a friend of the Nopahs,” replied Lord. ‘He 
does not think the registration is honest. “The governmerit 


has made a law to drive young white men to war. It does 


not hesitate to cheat the Indians for the same reason.” 

‘The ensuing silence of a moment seemed pregnant with 
the conviction of the Indians. Presently another of them 
moved forward. He leaped on the counter. He too was 
old, a scar-faced Indian, with fierce, dark mien. He shook a 
sinewy hand at the young men before him. 

“Hagoie will kill any Nopah here who registers!” he 
thundered. | 


‘That appeared to end the speech-making, for all the 


Indians began to jabber excitedly. Nophaie took advantage 


of the moment to slip outdoors. “Twilight had fallen. He 


walked to a corral near the house and sat down out of sight 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 219 


to wait for darkness and to think. He did not intend to 
let Lord get away from that post without being confronted. 
He had noticed that he was packing a gun. ‘Therefore it 
would be policy to surprise him. Nophaie argued dispas- 
sionately that he had good cause to kill Lord aside from 
the possibility of self-defense. 

In twos and threes the Indians came out of the trading 
post to mount their horses and ride away into the gloom of 
the desert. Soon Nophaie felt that he could venture close to 
the house. At an opportune moment he approached and 
leaned in the shadow of the stone wall. More Indians came 
out, until there appeared only a few left. “Then, as Nophaie 
had hoped for, Jay Lord came out the door with the squaw- 
man. ‘The latter was speaking. Evidently Lord was going 
to see about his horse. 

“T’m married to a Nopah squaw—shore,” said the trader, 
with a hint of wrath, “but I ain’t no Indian—nor fool, 
either. JI didn’t like your talk about this register order.” 

“Ahuh! Wal, be damn good and certain you keep your 
dislikes to yourself,” growled Lord. “Otherwise you won’t 
last long here.” 

The squaw-man retired into his house and Lord strode 
toward his horse. 

Nophaie glided after him. Then just as Lord reached 
for his bridle he must have heard something, for he stiff- 
ened. Nophaie pressed his gun against Lord’s side and said 
low and sharp. 

“Don’t move your hands. If you do I'll kill you.” 

“Nophay ?” ejaculated Lord, hoarsely. 

*““Y es—Nophaie.” 

“Wal—what you want?” 

“Listen. . . . I heard your talk to the Indians. I know 
now what has influenced them all over the reservation. It’s 
German propaganda—and you’re Blucher’s mouthpiece. 
You’re no better than a German yourself. You're a traitor. 
Do you hear me?” 


220 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Hell! I ain’t deaf,” growled Lord, straining to hold 
himself stiff. His face now made a pale blotch in the gloom. 
“Lord, this talk of yours is treason,’ went on Nophaie, 
“Do you have to be told that by an Indian? .. . If I had 
time I could get Nopahs, and white men too, who’d help me 
prove your guilt. But I want all my time leit to undo your 
dirty work. I’m going to war—to fight for your country. 
. . . Now here, if you don’t quit spreading these propa- 
ganda lies for Blucher I’ll ride to Flagerstown and enlist. 
Then I'll come back on the reservation. I'll be an American 
soldier, outside the law. Blucher can’t touch me or hold 
me. ... And I'll kill you—Lord—I swear I will! ...7 
Do you believe me?” | 

“Wal, I reckon I do,” replied Lord, gruffy. ‘An’ if you 
want to know, I’ll give you a hunch I’m damn glad to be 
scared off this job.” 

“Just the same—get on that horse and keep your back te 
me,” ordered Nophaie. 

In another moment Lord, cursing under his breath, was 
in the saddle. A hard, leathery thud and jangle attested 
to his use of spurs. “The horse plunged away to be enveloped — 
by the darkness, : 


Nophaie stayed at the squaw-man’s house for two days, — 
and all his earnest talks to the Indians who visited the post — 
failed signally to overcome the insidious poison spread by 


Jay Lord. 


To Nophaie’s dismay he found that the farther he pene- 
trated into this part of the reservation the colder were the — 
Nopahs to his solicitations. 

Hot weather came. The desert summer lay like a blanket 
Over sage and mesa and sand. All the mornings dawned 
cool and pleasant, with the sky clear and blue, the sun a 
glorious burst of gold, and the desert a rolling open land of 
color. But as soon as the sun tipped the eastern mesa the 
heat veils began to rise from the sand. ‘Toward noon white, 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 221 


creamy clouds rose above the horizon, to mushroom and 
spread and grow dark, eventually to let down the gray 
winding curtains of rain. Each thunderstorm had its rain- 
bow, and there were times when Nophaie rode down a vast 
shingle of desert with rainbows and storms on the horizon 
all around him while upon his head the hot sun fell. Many 
a storm he weathered, grateful for the gray wet pall out 
of which he emerged drenched to the skin. 

At length Nophaie headed his horse back toward the west 
and the country he knew best. One whole day he rode along 
the rim of a deep blue canyon, before he could cross. Many 
a day he went hungry, and slept where night overtook him. 

At the Indian hogans east and south of Mesa Nophaie 
ran into conditions not heretofore experienced by him. As 
the taint of white civilization began to be more pronounced 
here, so was the agitation incident to the war. Nophaie did 
not find the groups of excited Indians sympathetic to his 
cause. “These Nopahs close to the borders of civilization 
and the railroad were markedly different from the Nopahs 
far to the north. Rumors had been spread all over that 
section—enforcement of the draft, confiscation of stock and 
wool, seizing of all firearms. Blucher’s minions had done 
their underhand job well. Nophaie saw more drunken I[n- 
dians in little time that he had ever seen before in all his 
rides over the reservation. Many were selling wool to the 
traders, in a hurry to dispose of it. Prosperity was at its 
peak. But an ominous shadow lowered over the desert. 
The Indians seemed to feel it. ‘Their work was neglected. 
Crowds of Indians rode into Flagerstown, to return with 
their minds chaotic. The fever of the whites communicated 
itself to the red men. ‘The medicine men predicted dire 
troubles for the Nopahs. 

Nophaie’s passionate dream of leading thousands of In- 
dians to war had to be dispelled. His tireless labors re- 
sulted in upward of two score of Nopahs signing their 
thumb marks to his paper. Word came to him from various 
sources that Indians were enlisting in the army, but he could 


222 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


not verify this until he got out of the desert. A terrible — 
bitterness at the government worked on him. In war time — 
what was the secret of holding a German spy to an impor- — 
tant post, where he could undermine the faith of thousands 
of Indians who would have made great soldiers?- What. 
stolid ignorance and blindness on the part of government 
officials! Blucher was guilty of treachery and treason. He © 
had been just keen enough to grasp the fact that these 
Nopahs could and would fight for America. And he had 
deceived them, adding to their already weary disgust at 
falsehood and falsehood. Nophaie saw the truth in all its 
appalling nakedness. He realized what might have been 
possible with the proud fierce young Nopahs. A great page © 
of American history—an Indian army joining the white man ~ 
in battle for liberty—would never be written. Nophaie had 
the vision. He loved his people. He knew their wonderful — 
qualities for war. ‘They might have made—they would — 
have made—a glorious record, and have paid the government 
good for evil. Heroism for injustice! “They would have 
earned citizenship in the United States. What magnificent 
opportunity lost! Lost! Nophaie’s heart burned with 
hatred for the German who had ruined the noblest oppor- 
tunity that had ever confronted his people. 

“I should have killed Blucher,” muttered Nophaie. ‘‘No 
service I can render now will ever be one-thousandth as 
great as that would have been.” 


Nophaie rode into Mesa, there to take farewell of Marian. 
Long he had dreaded this and thrust it from his mind. But 
now with his work ended, and the near approach of the © 
date set for him and his Nopahs to enlist, he had to think 
of her. 

Much as he yearned to see Marian, he was greatly re- 
lieved to learn from Paxton that she was in Flagerstown 
and would expect him there. She had left Nophaie a short 
note, telling him where to find her, and she entreated him 
not to tarry long at Mesa. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 223 


Nophaie had need of that entreaty. Never in his life 
before had he been the victim of the dark and terrible mood 
now fastened upon him. The wrath roused in him by the 
murder of Do etin and his ambushment by the Noki, and 
the tragedy of poor little Gekin Yashi, had not been the 
same as this, now so murky and hot in his soul. The idea 
of war had liberated something deep and latent in Nophaie. 
The menace to the fair seaboard of the United States, which 
he remembered so well, the encroachment of an utterly un- 
scrupulous enemy, had stung and roused in him the in- 
stinctive savageness of his nature. 

It was in this mood that Nophaie reached Mesa, and the 
pathos of Marian’s letter and the proximity of Blucher and 
Morgan only added fuel to the smoldering fire. 

Nophaie made no effort to hide. He was in reality an 
American soldier. He had ridden thousands of miles in 
the service of the army. No reservation jail, no jail at 
Flagerstown, could hold him now. Freely he mingled with 
the Indians at the trading post. An unusual number were 
there, some drunk, all excited, and a few were bound for 
Flagerstown, on the same errand as Nophaie. The mail 
carrier had two of them engaged as passengers, and readily 
agreed to take Nophaie. It was a five-hour run by auto- 
mobile. Nophaie thrilled to his depths. Five hours only— 
then Benow di cleash! He gazed from the stone step of the 
trading post, out across the sand and brush of the mesa, 
away over the stark and painted steppes of the desert to the 
unflung black-peaked range of mountains. Benow di cleash 
would be there. Already the sun had begun its western 
slant, and when it touched the horizon rim he would see the 
white girl. 

Ought he not see Gekin Yashi? ‘The thought flayed him. 
No! ‘That would be the last straw added to the burden of 
his hate for Morgan and Blucher. 

Nophaie took no part in the jabbering of the Indians 
around him, but sat back behind them on the stone steps, 
his sombrero pulled down to hide his face. ‘There he 


224 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


smoked his cigarette in silence, brooding and dark in his 
mind. When school recess time came and the Indian boys 
ran to and fro like blue-ginghamed little automatons, No- 
phaie watched them from under the brim of his sombrero. 
What would be their future? And then when beyond 
them, through the fence he espied the brown-faced black- 
haired little Indian girls, each of them a Gekin Yashi for 
some Nopah, he looked no more. 

An automobile thrummed up the road from Copenwashie 
and stopped before the trading post. 2T(wo white men beside 
the driver occupied it. One of them was Blucher. Had 
that round bullet face thinned out? Nophaie felt the leap 
of his blood. Blucher and his companion got out of the 
car and climbed the stone steps, in earnest conversation not 
distinguishable to Nophaie. But as the superintendent passed 
to enter the trading post Nophaie could have reached out 
a long arm to touch him. 

Kill him now! ‘The whisper ran through Nophaie’s 
being. It was a flame. Almost it precluded thought. Could 
he serve his America or his own people in any better way 
than to kill this German? No! All Nophaie’s intelligence 
justified his passion. What matter if civilization beyond the 
confines of the desert knew nothing of this man’s iniquity? 
Nophaie knew. What matter if the callous and mighty 
government machine never knew—or knowing would not 
care—or blindly wound in its red-tape and infinite igno- 
rance—hanged Nophaie for his deed? Nophaie knew. 
‘There were things outside of reason or self-interest. But 
the face of Benow di cleash rose in Nophaie’s reddening 
sight, and he was again master of himself. 

Presently Blucher and his attendant came out, accom- 
panied by Paxton, who appeared to be talking about flour 
he had exchanged for wool. Blucher stood for a moment 
at the doorstep. Again Nophaie could have reached him. 
And all the burning fires of hell in Nophaie’s heart were 
smothered into abeyance of his love for a white woman. 
Just to save her pain he sacrificed the supreme and only 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 225 


savage lust of his life. Once he was all Indian. How easy 
to kill this man! What inexplicable emotion quivered 
to the thought! To rise—to fling his sombrero—to thrust 
a gun into this traitor’s abdomen—to eye him with the eye 
of Indian ruthlessness and white man scorn—to free passion 
in the utterance: “Look, German! It is Nophaie! And 
your last vile moment of life has come!” 

But Nophaie gave no outward sign of the storm within 
him. It passed, like a wind of death. And he marveled 
at the strange chances of life. Here stood this Blucher, ut- 
terly unaware of the presence of the Indian who had no fear 
of anything, who had waived murder by the breadth of a 
hair. Evil men there had been and still were in the world— 
men who knew the perils of life and had the nerve to gamble 
with them—but Blucher was not one of these. Morgan 
was a stronger man, as he was a greater villian, yet he too 
was as blind as a bat. Dead to something righteous and 
terrible in the souls of some men! ‘The agent of the govern- 
ment and the missionary of the church were but little and 
miserable destroyers, vermin of the devil, with all their 
twisted and deformed mentality centered upon self. 


Before sunset that day Nophaie was in Flagerstown and 
had dispatched a note to Marian. Before he started to meet 
her he had enlisted at the recruiting station and was a soldier 
of the United States army. 

At the end of a street near the outskirts of town Nophaie 
found the number he was looking for. And as he mounted 
the porch of the little cottage Marian opened the door. Fair 
golden flash of face and hair! He did not see clearly, - 
stumbling as he went in. Her voice sounded strange. “Then 
they were alone in a little room with vague walls. Dread 
he had felt at prospect of this meeting, but he had not un- 
derstood. He only wanted to spare her pain. This woman 
now, holding his hands, gazing with strained dark eyes of 
agony up at him, was remembered by her beloved fair face, 
but something in it was strange to him. 


226 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


““Benow di cleash!” he said, unsteadily. 


“Nophaie—lover—my Indian! ... You are going to — 


war,” she whispered, and threw her arms round his neck. 


Even as Nophaie bent to her white face and to her lips, — 


he grasped at the meaning of her singular abandon. One 
word had been enough. War! And he pitied her, and 
loved her as never before, and understood her, and clasped 


her close, and kissed her until she sank against him, pale — 


and spent. ‘To him her kisses, with all their sweetness of 


fire, called to his own lips only an austerity of farewell. 
Long ago, in his Canyon of Silent Walls, he had fought his 


battle against love. Here he was as strong, tranquil, grave — 


as she was weak and passionate. 

“Nophaie—when do you—go away?” she whispered. 

*“To-night at ten.” 

“Oh!—So soon?—But you go first to training camp?” 
she queried, breathlessly. 

Ves”? 

“You might not be sent abroad.” 

“Benow do cleash, do not have false hopes. You want 
me to go to France. I’m fit now to fight. And it will not 
take long to make soldiers of my Nopahs.”’ 

“That means the—the front line—the trenches—scout 
and sharpshooter duty—the most dangerous posts!’ she 
cried, with a hand going to her mouth. 

“Indians would not court the safe places, Benow di 
cleash. We are going—sixty-four Nopahs, most of whom I 
enlisted.” 

Then he told her of his long rides and his importunities 
to beat Blucher’s influence, and of his failure. She warmed 
to that and in her anger at the treachery of the agent and 
her pride in Nophaie she passed by the more poignant mo- 
ment of this meeting. 

“I knew he was pro-German,” she said, with flashing 
eyes. ‘Yet strange to say he has strong friends here. Oh, 
this little town is out of its head. What must Philadelphia 
or New York be now?” 


ee eee 


—— ee 


ee a ee eee 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 227 


“If the Indians are excited, what must white men be?” 
replied Nophaie. “All this war feeling is bad, wild, ter- 
rible. But I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. 
| OEE 

“Nothing to—to—lose,” she cried, suddenly sobbing, and 
again her arms flashed round his neck. “‘Nophaie—you have 
me to lose. . . . Don’t you love me still?” 

“Love you! Child, you are beside yourself,” he replied, 
tenderly. He saw the havoc of war in this girl’s breaking 
of reserve and intensity of emotion. “Only to-day I proved 
my love to you, Benow di cleash.”’ 

“How? Not to me—not yet.” 

He told of the incident where Blucher passed within reach 
of his arm—at a crucial moment when all the savagery of 
Indian nature was in the ascendant, and he had denied it. 

“Only thought of you kept me from killing him,” he con- 
cluded. 

“Me! Id have been glad,” she returned, with again that 
strange blaze in her eyes. 

Nophaie realized anew that the white girl now presented 
a complexity of character perhaps beyond his comprehension. 
She who had been the one to save Blucher’s life now would 
have gloried in hearing of his death through her lover. This 
war spirit had unsettled her mind. 

“Nophaie, let me follow you to New York—to France,” 
she begged. 

“Let you follow me! Why, Benow di cleash—I couldn’t 
prevent you, but I implore against it.” 

“T would never disobey you. Let me go. I can become a 
nurse—do Red Cross work—anything.” 

“No. If you want to obey me—give me happiness—stay 
here and go on helping my people until I come back—or—” 

“Don’t say it,” she cried and shut his lips with hers. “I 
can’t bear the thought. Not yet. Maybe some courage will 
come to me after you have gone. I love you, Nophaie. A 
million times more since I came out here to your country. 
The desert has changed me. Listen, after you leave I will 


’ 


228 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


go East for awhile. But I promise I will come back here 
and work—and wait.” 

“All is well, Benow di cleash,” he said. “TI feel that I 
will come back. . . . New let us go outside and walk. I 
cannot say good-by to you inside a house.” 

Gold and purple clouds attended the last steps of sunset— 
a magnificent panorama along the western slope: of the 
mountain range. At the end of a lane a low rocky emi- 
nence rose, the first lift toward the higher ground above 
the town. Stately pine trees grew there. Wide apart, 
rugged and brown, with their thick green tops, they ap- 
pealed strangely to Nophaie. A solemn and beautiful and 
splendid emotion came to him as he walked under them with 
Marian. Strength seemed to have passed from him to her. 
She was growing calmer and assimilating something of his 
faith, of the mystic in him. 

The warm summer air floated away, and the cool wind 
from the mountain took its place. The rosy afterglow of 
sunset faded into pale blue. A lonely star glimmered in the 
west. ‘The great still pines grew black against the sky. 

““Benow di cleash, when the Indian says at the end of his 
prayer, ‘All is well,’ he must mean just that. Your mis- 
sionary never interprets any prayer as a submission to life, 
to nature. The white prayer is a fear of death—of what 
comes beyond. I have no fear of death, nor of what comes 
after—if anything does come. ‘The only fear I have is for 
you—and such of my people as Gekin Yashi. Women of 
my race are marked for suffering. I deplore that. It is 
one of my atheistic repudiations of the white man’s God. 
There is enough physical suffering for women. Just last 
week when I stayed at a hogan I saw an Indian woman die 
in childbirth. . . . You must understand how gladly I wel- 
come a chance to forget myself in a righteous war. I know — 
the nature of fight—what violence does to the body—and if 
it does not kill me it will cure my trouble. Perhaps over 
there I may find the God I could not find in my silent — 
canyons. ‘Then there is the man—the Indian in me—rising 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 229 


up fierce and hard to fight. If all Germans are like Blucher 
I want to kill some of them. . . . You must not have one 
unhappy hour on account of my going to war. Think of 
me as an American soldier. Physical pain is nothing to me. 
I have played football with injuries that would have laid 
white men in the hospital. I welcome this chance to justify 
the Indian. Any Indian not steeped in his ancestral blind- 
ness and ignorance would be as I am now. So I bid you 
not be unhappy. If I live to come back to the reservation 
then you may have cause to be unhappy about me. For I 
know the war will bring misery and poverty and plague to 
my people. But be glad now that with all my misfortune 
I can rise above it and hate, and fight for you and your 
people. Love of you saved me from the dissolute life so 
strangely easy for the Indian among white people. It saved 
me to strive against my unbelief. And it has uplifted me 
to believe I may come somewheres near the noble Indian 
you have dreamed me.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Aye Nophaie’s departure Marian felt as if the end of 

all had come. She had not looked beyond this last 
meeting. And now with the poignant and stinging experi- 
ences in the past she seemed lost and broken-hearted. She 
fell into a terrible depression out of which she struggled 


with difficulty. The desert called her; the promise to No- — 


phaie was a sacred obligation; but she could not at once 
return to her work among the Indians. She decided to go 
back East for a while. 

The hour she arrived in Philadelphia she realized that 
outside of her need of change and the pleasure of old asso- 
ciations there was other cause for her to be glad she had 
returned. 


Philadelphia, like other great cities, was in the throes of © 


preparing for war. ‘The fever of the war emotion had 
seized every one. ‘The equilibrium of the staid and tran- 
quil city of brotherly love had been upset. Marian found 


her relatives as changed as if many years had intervened be- 
tween her departure and return. “They had forgotten her. — 
Each was obsessed by his or her peculiar relation to the 
war. ‘The draft of a son or brother or nephew, the seek- | 
ing of war offices, the shifting of trade to meet the exigencies — 
of war demands—all these attitudes seemed personal and — 
self-seeking. Many of Marian’s acquaintances, young men © 
under thirty, in one way or another evaded the clutch of the © 
service. Conduct such as this was thrown into relief by 
the eagerness with which others enlisted before the draft. ~ 
Young women were finding the world changed for them. | 
Every opportunity appeared thrust upon them, even to the ; 


230 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN 231 


extreme of donning khaki trousers and driving ambulances 
in France. Marian could have found a hundred positions, 
all more remunerative than any she had ever had. It was 
a time of stress. It was a time of iniense emotional strain. 
It was a time when the nobility and selfishness of human na- 
ture were enhanced. It was a time that tried the souls of 
mothers. It was a time which called forth strange, deep 
and far-reaching instincts in young women. It was a time 
when many soldiers misused the glamour of their uniforms. 

Marian had her own reasons for being personally and 
tremendously stirred by the war. ‘That made her chari- 
table and generous in her judgments of others. But the 
wildness and unrestraint she could not condone. She could 
not blame any girl for heedlessly rushing into marriage with 
a soldier—for she had yearned to marry Nophaie—but she 
was afironted and disgusted by the abandon she saw in so 
many young people. “The war had given them a headlong 
impetus toward she knew not what. 

Yet Marian felt this strange and terrible thing herself. 

Why did her heart swell when she saw a soldier? Why 
did her eyes dim when she saw from her window a train-load 
of soldiers speeding toward New York? ‘The spectacular 
sale of Liberty Bonds, the drives, the bazaars, the balls, the 
crowded theaters, the enlistment of half the graduating class 
of the University of Pennsylvania—in the midst of all this 
strange exalting atmosphere Marian found her reason for 
being glad she had come. No American should have failed 
to see and feel these days. ‘The desert had isolated and 
‘insulated Marian, until it had seemed she was no longer a 
‘part of the great Republic. She had as much reason as 
any woman—except mother of a soldier—to be terribly 
‘drawn into the chaos of war times. Whenever she thought 
of Nophaie a shuddering possessed her internal body and she 
was sick. Yet there was a pride in him that was growing 
infinite. 

Marian did her bit in the way of buying and selling bonds, 


252 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 
and in Y. M. C. A. and Red Cross work. But for her 


promise to Nophaie to go back to the reservation she would 
have gone, like so many young women, to extremes of war 
enthusiasm. ‘The urge to go to France was something hard 
to resist. 

Nophaie’s letters were few and far between, and not what 
they had been out in the desert, but upon them Marian 
lived and sustained her hope. In September she went to the 
seashore to get away from the humidity and tainted air of 
the city, which, since her sojourn in the West, she could 
hardly endure. And she needed rest. She went to Cape 
May and haunted the places on the beach where she had 
been with Nophaie. : 

The restless bright Atlantic! Marian bathed in the surf 
and spent long hours upon the sand. ‘This period was rest- 
ful, yet it was singularly acute and living. ‘The grand roll 
of the breakers, the thunder and boom, the white foam and 
the flying spindrift, the green heaving sea far out—these 
elements seemed to be understood better and appreciated 
more through her memory of the desert. But she loved the 
desert most; and every day the call of the wide colored 
wastes, the loneliness, and something she could not define, 
rang more insistently in her ears. 

So time flew by, and autumn began to decline into winter. 
It took time for Marian to dispose of the little property she 
had, and following that came a letter from Nophaie telling 
her when he was to sail from New York for France. 
Marian went to New York in a vain hope of seeing him, 
But all she had of him was the sound of his voice over the 
telephone. For this she was unutterably grateful. The 
instant she had answered his “hello,” he had called: “Benow 
di cleash?”’ Then shaking all over there in the little booth, | 
she had listened to his brief words of love and farewell. 

She was one of the throng of thousands of women on the 
Hoboken docks when the huge liner left her moorings. 
Thousands of faces of soldiers blurred in Marian’s sight. 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 233 


Perhaps one of them was Nophie. She waved to them and 
to him. She was only one of these thousands of women left 
behind to suffer and endure. This was harder for Marian 
than the farewell in Flagerstown. 

White fluttering sea of waving handkerchiefs! Flash of 
ruddy boyish faces! ‘These meant so much. They were 
so infinitely more than just incidents of life. 

The keen bright winter sun shone down on the deck of 
weeping women, on the huge liner with its tan-colored 
fringe of human freight, on the choppy green-waved Hudson 
River, and the glitter of the city beyond. 

Marian returned to Philadelphia with her spirit at low- 
est ebb and for once in her life fell prey to an apparently 
endless dejection. Besides, the cold wet climate had a bad 
effect upon her after the dry bracing desert. She suffered 
a spell of illness, and when she recovered from that she 
deemed it best to wait for spring before starting west. 
Meanwhile she went into war work. All of her notes on 
the reservation and the Indian school remained untouched. 
She had not the heart to rewrite them for publication. She 
read newspapers aud periodicals upon the war until her 
mind was in a chaotic state. Once at least she was stung 
_ into specific realization and an agony of suspense. 

A newspaper printed a report of French operations along 
a river at the front. For some reason not stated it was im- 
portant that observations be kept from the end of a certain 
bridge, long under German gun-fire. For three days a 
soldier had sood motionless, whitewashed to resemble a post, 
at the exposed end of that bridge. He was successful in his 
observations and had not drawn the gun-fire of the enemy. 
But he died from the strain and the coatings of whitewash. 
This scout was an American Indian. 

“He—he might have been Nophaie!”’ whispered Marian, 
in torture. 

In the spring Marian received a reply to a letter she had 
_ written Mrs. Wolterson: 


awh) A rye VANISHING AMERICAN 


Dear Marian: | 

I am long indeed in replying to your most welcome and 
interesting letter. But you will forgive me, for my excuse is 
work, work, work. Imagine! out of six white people and 
thirty little Indian children J was the only one not down with > 
influenza. 

First your account of the goings-on of people in the East, 
and all that war stuff, stirred me to thrills, made me long to 
be home—for I too am an Easterner—and yet caused me to 
thank God I am out in the open country. 

We were transferred here, as you already know, and left 
Mesa without regret, except for our few true friends there. 
We are fortunate to be retained in the service at all. ‘The 
wrong done my husband by Blucher and Morgan was not 
undone and never will be. 

Blucher, you will be glad to hear, had a sudden check to his 
open pro-Germanism. Something or somebody frightened him. 
My friends write me that his reaction to this fear, whatever — 
it was, resulted in his applying himself to reservation work, ~ 
But he will not last much longer as superintendent. He will” 
get the ‘steam-roller.’ j 

Morgan, however, goes on his triumphant way with his Old © 
Book behind him. What a monster that man is! It is utterly © 
inconceivable that such a fanatical devil could have such power 7 
among many good missionaries. 4 

Here is a bit of news that comes closer to us. Gekin Yashi — 
has again disappeared. Headquarters reported she had run off. © 
But my correspondent in Mesa does not believe it. No attempt — 
was made to trace her. If she had run off she would have 
been tracked. Neither Rhur or any of the policemen has 
left Mesa. I know what I think, and so does Robert. But 
it seems best not to trust my suspicions to a letter. Some day — 
the truth will come out. Alas for the Little Beauty of the’ 
Nopahs! When I think of her, and the child prodigy Evange- 
line, and noble Nophaie, I am sore at heart. a 

King Point is not at all like Mesa. I loved Mesa, despite ~ 
what I suffered there. ‘This place is high up on the desert, 
over seven thousand feet above sea level. It is bleak, barren, 
bitter cold, and the winds are terrible. The snow last winter 
blew level with the sand. It did not fall! But there is beauty 
here. Great red bluffs, covered with cedars and sand dunes 












THE VANISHING AMERICAN 235 


forever changing with the wind, and yellow mesas, and long 
white slopes of valley. But the solitude, the cold, and the 
mournful winds are dreadful. Influenza swooped down on 
us late in winter, a very fortunate circumstance. Had spring 
not come I believe the whole population of thirty-six would 
have been wiped out. 

As it was everybody but myself fell sick. Can you imagine 
my labors? I had them all to myself before a doctor came, 
and then after he was gone. The poor little Indian children— 
they were so sick! I hardly had time to eat, let alone sleep. 
And when relief came it was none to soon for me. 

I have no direct information regarding influenza ravages at 
other points on the reservation. But I understand it hit the 
Nopahs pretty hard. I never saw any disease like this. I 
dread the return of winter. Warm weather kills the germ 
or whatever spreads this sickness. If it should come early 
in winter I shudder to think what might happen out here on 
the reservation. 

You wrote in your letter of returning. We are glad to hear 
this news. Mrs. Withers wrote me that she had received a 
letter from Nophaie from France, and that he said he had 
seen you on the pier at Hoboken just before his ship sailed. 
But you did not see him!—How strangely things happen! .. . 
I have two brothers at the front in France. When I think of 
them I think of Nophaie. 

All good wishes to you, Marian, and let us hear from you. 

Sincerely, 
BEATRICE WOLTERSON. 


Marian went back to the Indian country prepared to 
work independently for the welfare of the Nopahs. At 
Flagerstown she rented a little cottage out near the pines, 
from which she could see the green slopes and gray peaks 
of the mountains. ‘This time, with knowledge and means to 
set about her task, she provided a comfortable place to 
live in during absences from the desert. 

Marian’s first trip on the desert took her to King Point, 
where she spent a profitable day with the Woltersons. King 
Point was as cool and pleasant in summer as Flagerstown. 
Marian found instant antagonism in the head of the Indian 


236 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


school there, making any project of hers rather out of the 
question. Besides, there was no place to stay. “The school 
was a small branch of the main system, and no Indians lived 
in the near vicinity. ‘The missionary there had been stationed 
by Morgan. And his wife seemed to regard Marian with 
ill-disguised suspicion. 

To Marian’s regret, she found matters not happy for the 
Woltersons. Blucher’s enmity had a long arm. Wolter- 
son had encountered the same underhand tactics that had 
been operative at Mesa. Moreover, the altitude and the 
cold, and the poor quarters furnished by the government, 
had not improved his health. Marian advised him to leave 
the Indian service. 

“Shore, I’ve got to,’ he drawled, “but I hate to quit just 
now. Looks like I’d be driven out.” 

Before Marian left she received a suggestion from Wol- 


terson that made her thoughtful. He told her about the 


little settlement of Nokis at Copenwashie, how they were 
growing poorer in water and land and had a hard winter 
ahead of them. 

“Shore, they'll not be able to feed their stock,” said Wol- 
terson. 

“Why?” inquired Marian. 

“Because they have less land than formerly and very little 
water. ‘They can’t raise enough alfalfa.” 

“Why less land than formerly?” 

“Friel and Morgan have gotten most of the Indians’ 
land.” 


absolutely unbelievable to me.” 
“Listen and I will tell you,” replied Wolterson. ‘First 
Friel or Morgan selected the particular piece of ground he 


“Oh, I remember. But Aow can they do that? It seems — 


wanted. ‘Then he got the superintendent to report to — 


Washington that his land was not needed by the Indians. 
It was naturally the best piece of ground. The govern- 


i 
ee 
% 


ment granted the use of a little tract of land upon which © 


a church might be built. Soon it was further reported that 


{ 
- 


4 


‘ 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 37 


this was not sufficient for the missionary to raise garden and 
hay. Another tract was available and this was also turned 
over. After a time Friel applied for and received a patent 
to this land. Other patents are pending. With the land 
goes a supply of water for irrigating, and often in addition 
a good spring, and this much water is simply taken from the 
Indians. Water on the desert is limited. Last year was 
dry. ‘This one may be drier—And there you are.” 

“Well!” ejaculated Marian. “So that is how these men 
acquire their lands!” 


Marian had planned to go next to Kaidab, but influenced 
by the incentive of Wolterson’s suggestion, and a dread of 
seeing just yet the beautiful sage uplands beloved by Nophaie, 
she decided first to look over the field at Copenwashie. ‘The 
Paxtons at Mesa gave her a warm welcome, and between 
them, for the sake of a subterfuge that might be wise, they 
arranged a basket and blanket buying job for her. 


Copenwashie lay down on the edge of the mesa two miles 
or more from the government post. At any time it was a 
barren, desolate outlook, and in summer under the leaden 
haze of heat it was surely mercilessly inhospitable to a white 
person. 

The Nokis were agricultural in their pursuits, not nomads 
like the Nopahs. ‘The two tribes had long been inimical to 
each other. One aged Noki woman, who was so old she did 
not know her age, had told Paxton she could remember when 
the Nopahs could ride down on the village and throw Nokis 
over the cliffs. “Their houses were flat-roofed, built of stone 
and adobe, cool in summer and warm in winter, a very great 
improvement on the hogan of the wilder Nopah. In many 
cases rude corrals adjoined the houses. The several lanes of 
the village were, upon Marian’s first visit, colorful and active 
with burros, dogs, chickens, cows, and Indian children. A 
keen tang of cedar smoke filled the air. It brought to 
Marian’s mind the camp fire of the upland country. Thin 


238 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


curling columns of blue smoke rose from invisible holes or 


chimneys. 
Marian went from door to door of these little low houses 


and asked for baskets. She saw stoves, beds, sewing-— 
machines common to white households. The rooms she got — 
a peep into were whitewashed and clean. ‘The Nokis were © 
short in stature, broad-faced, resembling a Japanese more ~ 
than a Nopah, and the women all appeared to be heavy. 
They spoke a little English, but they were reserved and shy. — 


Marian was hard to please in style of baskets, but she paid 
the price asked without haggling. ‘Thus she carefully felt 
her way along the line of procedure she had adopted. When 


she left the village and ascended the slope to the level of © 


Mesa she looked back. 


The place seemed a jumble of little rock and mud huts 


perched on the very edge of a precipice. Below lay a wide © 
green valley with Indian laborers at work and threads of © 
water running to and fro. Across the valley rose a red-— 


and-yellow bluff, rimming out on the ghastly desert. ‘To 
the right of where Marian stood loomed an imposing struc- 


ture of stone, built by masons, two stories high and with a — 
tower. This was the home of Friel. Somehow Marian — 
resented its presence there. She was looking at it with an © 
Indian’s eye. She thought of the cowboy missionary, Rams- © 
dell, who had slept and lived like the riders of the open. © 
Knowing what she knew, Marian had difficulty in restrain- — 


ing more than prejudice. 


Paxton had driven her down to Copenwashie, and said he — 
did not consider it safe for her to walk. Opportunity to — 
ride was infrequent, so Marian adjusted herself to a slow © 
progress of passing the time and winning the confidence of ~ 
the Nokis. But there were other demands upon her time—_ 
study, reading, writing letters, keeping in touch with all per-_ 
taining to the war. The heat of midday was, after all, not 


unendurable, and she got used to it, though she endeavored 


to stay indoors during those hours. She hired the Indian” 
mail carrier, who remembered her, to carry her letters to’ 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 239 


Flagerstown and to do her errands. Three or four times a 
week she visited the Noki village. On each trip she bought 
baskets, and she always left candy and dolls and musical 
toys with the children. When a Noki woman asked her if 
she was a missionary Marian thought she had gained a point 
in her emphatic negative. 

She anticipated embarrassing situations and prepared for 
them. Jay Lord sat on the trading-post steps during the 
summer evenings. Morgan had asked somebody what that 
“white-faced cat” was doing back on the reservation? Friel 
had learned of her presence. But so far Marian had been 
clever and fortunate enough to avoid meeting either of them 
face to face. She did not care, however, when that might 
happen. 

If happiness could have been hers it might have come to 
her here on the desert that had somehow changed her, and 
in the work she had chosen. But she could not be really 
happy. Nophaie wrote but seldom. He was “‘somewhere in 
France.” His letters were censored, and he wrote so little 
of himself. Marian lived in constant dread that she would 
never hear from him again—that he would be killed. It 
did not torture her that he might be injured. For she knew 
that he was an Indian to whom injuries were nothing. She 
could not break the morbid habit of reading about the war. 
She had terrible dreams. She hated the Germans more and 
more. Even the tranquillity of the desert, its wonderful 
power to soothe, did not help her with this war emotion. 
Life did not stand still, but her heart seemed to. She en- 
dured, she made the most of her opportunities among the 
Nokis, and she tried not to fail in faith and hope. But the 
long hot summer dragged, relieved only by one short visit 
to the cool and mountain altitude of Flagerstown. 


With the end of summer there seemed to be an end to 
the uneventful waiting monotony of her life. 
Withers called for her one day and packed her off in his 


car to Kaidab. His wife was not very well and needed a 


240 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


change of climate, and wanted Marian to take a short trip 
with her to California. Marian gladly consented, and while 
preparations were under way for this journey she rode horse- 
back, and climbed high on the black mesa to try to get a 
glimpse of Nophaie’s country. All she could attain was sight 
of the red pinnacles of the monuments of the Valley of Gods. 
But she was grateful for that. 

Looking across that wild and wonderful desert of upflung 
rocky ramparts and green reaches of lowland, Marian 
thought of the Indian boy who had been born there, who 
had shepherded his flock in the lonely solitude, listening to 
the secret voices of Indian spirits, who was now fighting in 
France for the white men and for America. Marian’s old 
strength seemed to flow back to her heart. She had been 
sick, lonely, brooding, weary for Nophaie. She needed love. 
But she realized her utter selfishness in contrast to Nophaie’s 
nobility. Just a sight of the upland country revived her 
earlier spirit. She must not be found wanting. Every day 
added to this renewal of courage and with that, and the 
cooler days, there came a quickening of her energies. 

Withers found the time propitious for a short absence from 
Kaidab. His partner, Colman, said business would grow 
poorer instead of better. “The decline of the Nopahs for- 
tunes had begun. Price of wool had been steadily falling. 
There was no demand for baskets and blankets. The In- 
dians had been prodigal of everything. ‘There were no stores 
laid away. And they misunderstood the decline in price for 
their wool while the price of all the trader’s wares soared 
higher. 

‘“They’re facing the hardest winter they ever had on this 
desert,” concluded Colman. 

“Wal, you’re talkin’, responded Withers thoughtfully. 
“And if that ‘flu’ disease strikes the reservation when cold 
weather comes it’s good night!” 

“Will the war never end?” sighed Mrs. Withers. 

“End? It’s ended now. ‘The Germans are licked. 
They’re stallin’ for time right now,” retorted the trader, 


ual 
> 
© 





ee eee 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 241 


with fire in his eyes. ‘““They’ll never go through another 
winter. I almost wish they would not show a yellow streak. 
France has got their number. Marshal Foch ought to be 
allowed to wipe the Germans off the earth. If he isn’t, the 
Germans will trump up some trick, and they'll come back in 
the future, worse than ever.” 

Wither’s son Ted had gotten to France, but he was still 
among the reserves, back of the front line, and that fact 
evidently irritated the Westerner. He wanted his son to 
fight. Mrs. Withers, on the other hand, was grateful for 
the chances that had so far spared her only son. ‘The sister 
of this boy shared her father’s aggressive ideas. Marian had 
grown war-weary. The whole terrible, incredible, and mon- 
strous riddle revolved around Nophaie. And she had not 
heard from him for many weeks. 

The last day of Marian’s stay at Kaidab she prevailed 
upon Miss Withers to ride out and climb the highest point 
available. Withers sent one of his Indian riders with them. 
They had a long, hard, and glorious ride. From the brow 
of a great divide Marian saw the whole vast reach of the 
Valley of Gods—the red sentinels of the desert—lonely and 
grand against the haze of distance. She saw the dark organ- 
shaped mesa under the shadow of which Nophaie had been 
born. Then far to the westward, up and up over the giant 
steps, she caught a glimpse of green-cedared and purple- 
saged uplands, and above them the huge bulk and dark dome 
of Nothsis Ahn. 

Marian felt a tremor that was more than thrill. Her 
breast heaved, her sight dimmed. Wild, lonely, beautiful 
land of sage and canyon! She loved it. The clearest teach- 
ing of her life had come from its spell. She longed to climb 
the endless and rugged trail to Nophaie’s silent walls. They 
were not silent for her. 

This day had been full, poignant, resurging with the old 
flood of emotions. As Marian rode across the level stretch 
of gray desert before Kaidab the sunset was gilding the rims 
of the distant mesas. Rose and lilac hazed the breaks in the 


242 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


walls, and the waste of sand and grass waved away under a 
luminous golden light. | 
Withers was waiting at the gate for the riders. His face 
wore an excited, eager, and happy expression, such as Marian 
had never before seen there. What could have broken this 
intrepid Westerner’s reserve? Marian experienced a sen- 

sation of weakness. 

“Get down and come in,” he called. “Come a-rustlin’ 
now. I’ve got news.” 

Marian tumbled off some way, and ran at the heels of 
Wither’s daughter, who was crying: “Oh! Dad’s got a let- 
ter from Ted!” 

So indeed it turned out to be. Mrs. Withers had been 
crying, but was now radiant. The trader fumbled over 
many sheets of paper, closely covered with writing. 

“Sis, you can read all of this afterward,” he was saying. 
‘““Ted’s all right. Fussin’ because he won’t see any real fight. 
He says what I told you all—the Huns are licked. 
WuoopreE! ... You know I wrote Ted months ago and 
asked him to find out about our Indians. I’d given up hop- 
ing. But he’s found out a lot, and I’ll read it. Marian, 
your Nophaie has got the D.S. medal! What do you know 
about that?” 

Marian could not have spoken then to save her life. She 
seemed locked in sensation—mute in the sweetest, richest, 
fullest, most agonizing moment of her life. 

‘The trader fumbled over the sheets of paper. His fingers 
were not wholly steady. 

“Here,” he began, “this letter seems less cut up than any 
we've had. ‘Ted writes: ‘I had some luck. Happened to 
run across a soldier—who’d been in the thick of the front- 
line battles with some of our Indians. What he had to say 
about them was aplenty. He knew Lo Blandy when he 
played college football. So it’s a good guess Lo Blandy is 
our Nophaie. I got thick pronto with this soldier. His 
name is Munson. He hails from Vermont. He’d not only 
been in the front-line trenches with our Indians, but in the 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 243 


hospital with some of them. I’ve forgotten names and 
places, if he told me. “This French lingo is sure hard for 
me. Munson said an officer told him there were thousands 
of American Indians in the service. “That was news to me. 
It sure tickled me. 

““*A good many Indians have been killed. Whether or 
not any of them were Nopahs I can’t say. But the Indian 
who pulled the bear-trap stunt is our own nutty Shoie, the 
spellbinder. Munson said they called him that, and he an- 
swered exactly to the description I gave. Now it appears 
that every night or so Shoie would pull a crippled German 
into the trenches. These German soldiers would have either 
an arm or leg broken, and terribly lacerated. Shoie never 
had much to say over here. You know the Indian. But 
like all the other redskins, he was a wonderful scout, and 
therefore had something more of freedom than the white 
boys. “These Indians were no more afraid of No Man’s 
Land than of crossing the desert at night. Shoie was 
watched. And it was discovered that he pulled these crippled 
Germans into the trenches in a number four bear trap, at- 
tached to a long wire. Shoie would crawl out in the dark- 
ness—they say he always picked the places where German 
soldiers were sneaking—and set the bear trap. “Then he’d 
slip back to the trench to wait. When he got one, every- 
body along that line sure knew of it. For the Germans 
hollered like hell. At that to crawl into a number four 
bear trap would make any man holler. All Shoie said was: 
“Me catch-um whole damn German army!’. ..I guess 
maybe the buddies didn’t hand it to this Indian. 

“Well, there’s more about Lo Blandy. Munson lay in 
the hospital with him, and found out he had been wounded 
four times, the last time seriously. But he seemed nearly 
well then. ‘That was three weeks ago. Blandy—or 
Nophaie—was to be discharged and sent home as an invalid, 
incapacitated for further service. He had been in everything 
the war afforded except actual death. That seemed to miss 
him. Munson said Nophaie was indifferent to danger and 


244 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


pain. Shell-shock had affected him somewhat, and gassed 


lungs made him a probable consumptive. But to Munson he 
was certainly far from a physical wreck. I think Munson 
said Nophaie got into the great Chatoo-Therry (how’d you 
spell that?) mix-up, and that an officer gave him the D.S. 
right off his own breast. Sure some stunt for an officer, 
believe me! 

““ “Anyway, Nophaie, along with other Indians, must be on 
the way home by now. I’m sure glad. It simply was grand 
to hear what devils they were among the Germans. I can’t 
remember ever caring a whoop about the Nopahs. But I’ve 
a hunch that a lot of Americans, including myself, haven’t 
ever appreciated the red man. 


“My chance of plugging a Fritz has become slim indeed, — 
and for that reason [’m sure homesick for you all, and the ~ 


smell of cedar smoke and sheep wool.’ ” 


‘ 
’ 
t 
I 
' 
ni 





CHAPTER XIX 


EWS of the armistice did not reach Mesa until late in 

the afternoon of that memorable November day. It 

came from the lips of the mail carrier. He was not credited. 

Paxton rushed to the telephone to call up Flagerstown, only 

to find the wire down. A crowd of Indians collected around 

the mail carrier, and they all believed him. Only the whites 
were skeptical. 

“Oh, it’s too good to be true,’ said Mrs. Paxton to 
Marian. 

“It must come soon,” breathed Marian, tensely. Had 
she not a letter in-her bosom—from Nophaie—telling of the 
deterioration of German morale? 

Paxton came striding in, half out of his wits between 
doubt and hope. He nearly fell over the baby. He hugged 
his wife—then suddenly ridiculed her hopeful assumption. 

Marian went out through the store, down the stone steps, 
and into the crowd of Indians around the mail carrier. 
Both Nokis and Nopahs formed that group. Excitement 
was rife. They jabbered in their low guttural speech. 
Marian smelled whisky. But resolutely forcing her way in, 
she got to the mail carrier. 

He was certainly in possession of his senses. Indeed, he 
was somber, almost stern. If emotion held him it was deep 
set. 

“What have you heard?” she asked in her own language. 

“War over. Germans run—holler no more shoot—want 
make big council,” he replied. 

“Who said so?” 

‘All come over wire. Heap talk over wire. . . . Men run 
round—get drunk—white squaws yell like hell. . . . All 


245 


246 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


stop work—bells ring—big smoke pipe on lumber mill blow 
steam long time—no hear.” 

And the Indian made significant motion to his ear, and 
then to his head, indication of his idea of a people with whirl- 
ing brain. 

Marian hurried back to the Paxtons. 


“Friends, the Indian is telling the truth. “There’s a jubilee : 


in Flagerstown. What else but peace could account for it?” 
“Oh, it’s too good to be true,” repeated Mrs. Paxton. 


Just then Paxton’s clerk came running in. He was pale, 


and appeared about to choke. 
“Eckersall on the phone,” he blurted out. “War over! 


. Friel brought news—he and Leamon. ‘They just got 


in from town. Everybody gone crazy.” 
Eckersall was the government farmer down at Copen- 
washie and an old Westerner not given to hyperbole. 


Paxton suddenly sat down as if glad for support. His 


wife hugged the little baby, and cried out, ““Thank God!” 


The clerk ran back to the store, and Paxton got up to — 


rush after him. Marian and Mrs. Paxton indulged in a 


few moments of heartfelt felicitations, not unmixed with — 
tears. And these few simple reactions appeared to be the 
forerunners of an hour of mounting excitement. Supper — 


was not thought of. Outside in front of the trading post the 
crowd grew apace, and now white faces began to mingle 
with the dark ones. Friel’s car came humming along, and 
it contained three other white men and several Indians. 
The latter leaped off as Friel drove on. He saw Marian 
standing on the steps, and waving his hand he yelled, ““War 
over!’ Marian waved back, and this was the only time she 
had ever been glad to see the missionary. He was the bearer 


of blessed news. He drove on, manifestly in a hurry to get — 


to government headquarters. 
The November air was raw and cold. It chilled Marian 


through. She went into the Paxtons’ sitting-room, where — 


she sat by the window. ‘The trader came through and 
opened the window. Don’t miss anything. ‘There'll be 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 247 


hell. Blucher has arrested some Nopahs. And I’ll bet they 
never go to jail.” 

Marian was now all eyes and ears. The trader kept run- 
ning to and fro, with his wife at his heels. She was trying 
to make him stay in the house. Nothing unusual, however, 
occurred outside for a while. The crowd swelled to upwards 
of a hundred Indians, a motley dark assemblage, divided 
into several groups, each of which undoubtedly surrounded 
an Indian with a bottle. The white men had drawn apart. 

It had been rather an overcast day, with clouds massing 
in the west. “The time was perhaps an hour before sunset. 
The purple-and-gray curtain broke to let out a ruddy sul- 
phurious glow that brightened the desert and tinged the 
canopied sky. ‘There was no hue of silver or gold. Shades 
of red burned against the purple, making a strange, weird, 
yet beautiful approach to sunset. 

Marian saw an Indian running down the avenue between 
the poplars. Some of the watching Indians shouted. ‘This 
Noki evidently was frightened, for he looked back, and then 
darted in among his fellows. 

Friel’s car appeared, still containing the same number. 
Marian recognized two of them. ‘The missionary drove to 
the steps, where he stopped the car and got out. Manifestly 
he was starting for the window to speak to Marian, when 
one of the other men called out, “Hold on, Friel.” 

The missionary, halted by the peremptory call, impatiently 
turned back. The Indians were looking now up the avenue. 
Marian heard another car coming. Before it reached range 
of her sight four white men came hurrying along. Rhur, 
‘the policeman, was the foremost, and the last two were 
Glendon and Naylor. Marian did not recognize the second 
‘man. ‘They had the mien of angry, excited men, yet not 
overbold. Then the second car hove in sight. Sam Ween, 
‘the interpreter, was driving it. Morgan stood on the run- 
‘ning board and Blucher stood up inside. It was not a dif- 
ficult matter for Marian to perceive the state of their minds. 


248 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


When the car stopped Morgan dropped off and Blucher 
piled out. 

“Arrest that Indian!” he yelled. 

Rhur apparently had the least reluctance to penetrate the 
suddenly silent crowd of Indians, and one of his deputies, the 
stranger Marian did not recognize, rather haltingly fol- 
lowed him. Glendon and Naylor hung back, a fact that 
added to Blucher’s exasperation. Morgan, too, edged away 
from the ominous-looking front line of Indians. Presently 
that line was broken to emit Rhur dragging an Indian be- 
hind him—the Noki that had hidden. Blucher ran in and 
shackled him. 

“What'd you put irons on him for, you blockhead ?” called 
Morgan. Indians hate irons. And I told you they were 
in bad mood. Some of them drunk!” 

““Who’s doing this?” hoarsely called the agent. 

The younger and probably more intoxicated number of 
the Indians suddenly appeared to move in unison and to 
spread round Blucher and his men. ‘They closed in, 
shouting. 

“Let that Indian go!” yelled Morgan, with all his might. 

“See him—in hell first,” yelled back Blucher. 

Then the crowd became noisy, violent, and decidedly 
threatening. Marian lost sight of the white men in the 
melee. She felt her pulses beat in excitement and fear. 
Surely the Indians were in no mood to trifle. How dark 
and wild their upturned faces! “They surged into a knot. 
That, too, broke as before, only more rudely, and it let out 
the white men, disheveled, pale, and thoroughly frightened. 
The Indians had forced Blucher to unshackle the Noki he 
had arrested. They jeered at him. Bottles flashed aloft, 
held by dark, sinewy hands. “Whisky!’’ some of the In- 
dians shouted, and several deliberately drank in the very 
face of Blucher. He was forced back toward the side 
of the trading post, as it chanced near the window where 
Marian crouched. 

“Skin stretched over stick!’ yelled a Noki who could 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 249 
_ speak good English. ‘Then both Nokis and Nopahs took up 


that slogan, each in their own tongue. ‘Taunt, contempt, 
hate, and warning all seemed embodied in this outburst. 

Then older and sober Indians in the crowd dragged the 
| violent ones back and away from the trading post. But, 
plainly, it was no easy task. Cooler heads prevailed, how- 
ever, and it seemed that Blucher and Morgan had narrowly 
escaped violence. 

“What’d I tell you?” shouted the missionary, hoarsely. 

Blucher vouchsafed no reply. His pale sweaty face seemed 
to have fixed in an expression of furious trance. Marian had 
a good look at him as he passed the window to go to his car. 
He might have been walking in a nightmare. Indians were 
naught to him. His strident orders and violent movements 
had been merely explosion of an unabatable and terrible pas- 
sion. Stolid, heavy, immovable German that he was, he had 
heard news to unseat his reason for this hour. 

Likewise Marian had a fleeting glimpse of Morgan’s face. 
Did she catch a lurking sardonic gleam, a malignant flash 
of eyes? Or had her sensitive imagination conjured up 
illusive justifications of her opinion of this man? She mar- 
veled at the missionary. As a woman she seemed to shrink 
from her enormous conception of him. Was she right or 
wrong? She would have wagered her all that his mind was 
an abyss as dark as hell and that his soul was a wilderness. 

Then these two men, at once so infinitesimally little in 
her conception of life and so monstrously powerful to rouse 
the drum and beat of her passions, slowly passed out of her 
sight. 





December came, bleak and raw, but holding off on the 
inclement weather that made the desert an inhospitable place 
for white people. Influenza was reported by the authori- 
ties on widely separated parts of the desert. No effort was 
made to check the disease or to minister to any Indians 
except the school children. But it was not considered 
serious. 


250 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Marian awoke one day to a realization that she had found — 
favor with the Nokis. Long before she expected it she was 
welcome in the secluded homes of these strange desert peo- 
ple. After all, they were very human, very susceptible to, 
kindness and goodness. “They would accept charity and 
presents, but a material gift was no sure way to their hearts, 
Marian really did not discover this until after she had won 
them. | 

Then it became clear to her that she had been ndey as 
intelligent and careful a scrutiny as she had bent upon 
them. She was judged by what she said and did, and by 
developments that verified the appearance of her. actions: 

After Marian had acquainted herself with the actual con- ~ 
dition of these Indians she set to work in her own way to 
help them. ‘There were babies and old men going blind 
from trachoma; there were children with congenital hip- 
disease; there were always injured horsemen and sick house- 
keepers; last of all, the whole village was poor and grow- 
ing poorer. 

The war might be over, but its aftermath had just begun. | 
There were signs that more than warranted the gloomy 
forebodings of Withers. 

Marian never saw the government school doctor wastal 
a ride down to Copenwashie. She brought a physician from 
Flagerstown. And his several visits, followed by her own 
ministrations, alleviated considerable distress. When the 
skeptical Nokis saw there was no aftermath from this, no- 
obligation, nothing but the kindness of Benow di cleash, — 
they subtly and almost imperceptibly changed. The old” 
Nokis learned to relax their somber faces in a slight smile; 
the children grew glad to see Marian, more for her pres-. 
ence than for gifts. 

It was very hard for Marian to remain even half an 
hour inside the little houses because of the acrid smoke 
from the open fires. ‘This severely affected her eyes and 
even her throat. When she got out into the cold cutting © 
desert wind she was always relieved. So she did the best 


a 


i ee es — —— > ee ee a a ee 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 251 


that she could, grateful indeed that her efforts were not 
futile. 

Paxton went out of his routine to help her. Eckersall, 
in his rough, uncouth way, left no stone unturned in her 
behalf. Between the two of them Marian seldom had to 
walk the wind-swept two-mile stretch up the mesa. She 
did not come into contact with Blucher or Morgan, and so 
far as she could tell, they were not paying any attention to 
her affairs. ‘This apparent fact, however, did not blind 
Marian to their possibilities. “They were like moles, bur- 
rowing in the dark. 

Naturally Marian’s increasingly close relation to some 
of the Nokis resulted in their confidences. And by the 
middle of December most of the little tribe who owned 
horses or cattle, and especially all of the freighters were 
hard pressed for feed for their stock. Marian lent money 
to some of the neediest. But the situation was not to be met 
by the little money she could spare. So she took up the 
matter with Eckersall. 

“Reckon I seen it comin’ all along,” was Eckersall’s reply. 
“The Nokis are in for a hell of a winter, if you’ll excuse 
my talk, miss.” 

“How much will it cost to buy hay for the winter?” 
asked Marian. 

“Them freighters alone will eat up a thousand dollars 
before spring. 

“Oh, so much! I can’t afford that.” 

“Wal, sure you can’t. An’ what you are doin’ more’n 
shows up this bunch.” 

“Where can we get help?” went on Marian. 

“Reckon I don’t know. Have you any friends you could 
ask ?” 

“Hardly. I wonder if Withers could help us.” 

“Withers! I should say not. Why, that trader is goin’ 
broke on the Indians this winter. Mark my words. I 
met him at Red Sandy last week. An’ I asked how about 
things out Kaidab way. He just threw up his hands.” 


252 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Eckersall, who has all the alfalfa raised here this last 
summer ?”’ ietien Marian, curiously. 7 
“Friel has most of it.’ 
“Ah! And has Blucher any hay?” 
“Aplenty. Some I raised an’ the rest freighted from” 
town.” \a 
“Well, cannot the Indians get some of that hay?” 

“Hump! ‘They'll have to pay d high for it. An’ 
jest now is a bad time. Blucher is sore over the meat deal.” 

“What is that?” , 

“Wal, miss, I’m only a government employee, an’ I reckon 
I ought to keep my mouth shut. Sure I could trust you. 
But that’s not the point. ... Pil tell you what Pido. Vil 
go to the agent an’ make a are talk for the Nokis.” : 

“Thank you, Eckersall. That’s good of you. Maybe “| 
can do something.” 

But Marian’s hopes were not high. And when from | 
another source she learned the current talk about the meat — 
deal she was even less sanguine. It appeared that as thell 
winter advanced Blucher had solicited meat from the Now 
and Nopahs. But he would not pay over five dollars for 
a beef. As a result the Indians sold but little of their stock 
and the Indian school children had considerably less of a 
meat diet. Marian knew that the government advanced 
more money than offered by Blucher. But he refused to pay 
more than five dollars. It took no clever acumen to deduct” 
why this was so and what he did with the difference. " 

Several days elapsed before Marian again saw Eckersall. 

“Wal, me an’ you are on the wrong side of the fence,” 
he complained, ruefully, in reply to her eager query. 

“How so?” ; 

“We have a hankerin’ for these poor devils of Indians. 

. Miss, I went to our German agent an’ I made the 
speech of my life. I painted the woe of the Nokis an’ 
the sufferin’ of the horses as it was never done before. I 
told him that he made the Nokis freight supplies from town} 
that he didn’t pay them enough; that these freighters had 










THE VANISHING AMERICAN ~ 253 


no other way to make a livin’. He said he hadn’t any hay 
to spare at twenty dollars the ton. Go to the missionary! 
. . . Wal, I went to Friel an’ talked with him. An’ he 
said forty dollars aton! . . . The Nokis can’t pay that. So 
I went back to Blucher an’ railed at him again. He 
snapped at me: ‘If Friel wants forty dollars a ton for their 
hay, then the Indians will have to pay forty dollars!” 


Not long after that Marian met one of the freight wagons 
at the foot of the mesa grade. “The wagon was packed full 
of boxes and bales, making a prodigous load to haul through 
sand and up the desert hills. Three teams of mustangs 
were hitched to it. Six little horses! They were skin and 
bones. How dejected and weary and hungry they appeared! 
Their ribs showed like fence pickets. Raw sores had been 
worn by the makeshift harness. 

The drivers, both young Nokis, were walking. One held 
the long reins; the other led at the head of the first team. 
They were as tired as their horses. “They had walked from 
Flagerstown—the whole distance of near eighty miles—to 
spare their teams. Marian questioned them, and though 
they grinned, their replies were significantly of depression. 

Following that incident, Marian fell upon another equally 
illuminating. Friel had several times told an intelligent 
Noki: “Hay and grain will be provided by Jesus Christ if 
you believe all I tell you.” This missionary left his two 
skinny horses to graze round the trading post. One day the 
intelligent Noki was driving home and in his wagon was 
some hay for his horses. When the Noki went into the 
post the starved horses belonging to Friel approached the 
wagon and ate up the hay. Upon discovering the circum- 
stance, the Noki dryly remarked: 

“Yes, missionary off somewhere praying Jesus Christ to 
send hay—and his horses here steal and eat mine!” 


The Nokis realized that their land was being gradually 
taken away from them and this winter they had grown res- 
tive and morbid under the strain. In former years the 


254 THE VANISHING AMERICAN ; 


Nokis had been allowed to raise alfalfa on a certain number _ 
of acres of the school farm, but this year that privilege had i 
been taken from them. If the government was using all 
the hay raised and if the missionary demanded exorbitant — 
prices for theirs, then all the Noki could do was to quit 4 
freighting supplies. For his horses had grown too weak 
to pull. 


Winter came at last, biting, icy, and the desert became 
an open waste to dread. Day after day dark clouds rose, © 
threatening storm. } 

Privation followed hard on the cold heels of winter, and 
many of the Noki families began to suffer. What with lack J 
of food for man and beast the outlook was discouraging 
indeed. Marian bought stores of supplies from Paxton— 7 
who charged exactly what they had cost him—but these did © 
not go far or long. q 

Then came the incident that heaped fuel on the fires of © 
Noki resentment. 4 

Friel had made a hurried trip to Flagerstown, where he © 
learned that flour had gone up two dollars a hundred weight. 7 
It so happened that on his return trip he passed several Noki } 
wagons going into Copenwashie to buy flour. Therefore, in | 
possession of this information, he hurriedly drove to the trad-— 
ing posts at Copenwashie and Mesa, and bought all the” 
flour the traders had, some two thousand pounds, at the 
old price. 

Friel before this incident had won a universal dislike 
for himself. It then fell out that he was to go beyond the 
endurance of even these stoical Nokis. q 

He got permission from the agent to preach to the school ~ 
children after they had assembled in the schoolroom each ~ 
day. So he chose the first hour of the morning session and © 
talked to the children about his interpretation of the Bible. — 
The Nokis objected to Friel’s taking the time from the 
school work to impose his doctrine upon them, and they © 
complained to the agent. Nothing was done. ‘The Nokis ~ 















THE VANISHING AMERICAN 255 


grew more resentful. “They roused dissension. Their ac- 
tivities caused reports to be made to the government, and 
an inspector was sent out. He ruled that the preaching 
during school hours be discontinued. But after he had gone 
Friel was seen to get audience with Morgan and Blucher, 
with the result that he kept up the preaching during the 
forbidden hour. 

The Nokis held council over this turn of affairs and abso- 
lute usurpation of their rights. The chief himself came to 
Marian and asked her to read to him the ruling of the 
inspector. She did so, in Nopah and in English, both of 
which languages he understood. 

“Benow di cleash, don’t you think we ought to kill him?” 
asked the Noki. 

Marian was shocked and told him with all the force she 
could command that murder would only add to their 
troubles. 

“Don’t you think we ought to kill him?” the chief kept 
repeating to everything Marian said. 

“No, no, you must not,” she protested. ‘ry sending a 
delegation to face Friel. Show him the inspector’s ruling 
and tell him you have had white people read it.” 

“Don’t you think we ought to kill him?” was all the 
chief said. 

But the next day, while Friel was preaching to the chil- 
dren, this delegation suggested by Marian assembled in 
front of the village. 

It was a cold, lowering day, with wind sweeping down 
across the desert. he village had been swept clear of 
snow, except in the protected corners of stone walls. Marian 
had anticipated some untoward event, and she had borrowed 
a horse to ride down early. “That trip had required some- 
thing of fortitude. When she neared the village she saw 
Nokis riding in from the Red Sandy trail. And when she 
reached the dip of mesa rim she had further cause for ex- 
citement. 

The delegation contained all the male Nokis, and some 


256 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


of the other sex, with a plentiful addition of Nopahs. 
Marian’s eyes gladdened at sight of the tall, graceful, pic- 
turesque Nopah riders, blanketed as they were. Manifestly 
there was something in the wind. “The crowd was walking 
and riding toward the school. Marian followed. It was 
some distance, and all the way new riders fell in with the 
delegation. What surprised Marian and added to her ex- 
citement was the apparent fact that the Nopahs were going 
to take part in this protest. But to Marian it looked more 
ominous than a formal stating of objections. “The Nokis 
meant to stop the preaching that they considered an imposi- 
tion on the time and attention of the school children. 

“Friel, come out!’ shouted a clear voice, in good English. 
It rang in Marian’s ears. Unmistakably Indian, but was it 
Noki? Marian had to restrain a strange agitation. She 
convinced herself she was nervous and overinclined to 
imaginings. But she felt that she could trust to her eyes, — 
and she rode farther, to within one hundred feet of the 
school. 

Friel did not appear promptly enough to please the Nokis. — 
They began to shout. Some one pounded on the door. — 
Then again the clear, high Indian voice pealed above the 
others, silencing them. 

“Come out or we'll come in!” . 

The door opened and Friel appeared. His face was red. — 
His figure, which resembled Morgan’s, seemed instinct 
with intolerant authority. Yet in spite of this he was not 
at ease. 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

“Get out. Quit preaching,” replied the leader, and from ~ 
the crowd came shouts confirming his order. 

“T won't!” yelled Friel, furiously. ‘“Blucher gave me ~ 
permission to preach. I’m going to do it.” 

“Read the order from Washington.” . 

The man waved aside the paper flaunted in his face. It © 
appeared to be in the hands of a short Noki, beside whom 
stood a tall Nopah. He wore a wide sombrero pulled down © 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 257 


over his face. “The crowd of Indians rode and pressed 
closer. A low hubbub of voices began to rise. 

“Come. Go to Blucher. Let us hear what he says. Let 
us have understanding. You’ve got to stop preaching in 
school !” 

“No!” exclaimed Friel, hotly. “I won’t stop. And I 
won't go to Blucher.” 

One of the mounted Nokis cast a lasso, the noose of which 
circled Friel’s neck. ‘The crowd shouted wildly. 

“Haul him out,” yelled the leader. 

Then the mounted Noki rode away from the school, draw- 
ing the lasso taut and dragging the missionary out through 
the crowd. His face was not nowred. Both his hands 
clutched at the noose round his neck. Manifestly the inten- 
tion had merely been to rope him and drag him into the 
presence of the agent. A wild young Noki, mounted on a 
spirited horse, pulled it up until its front hoofs pawed the 
airs 

“Hang him!’ this Indian yelled in Noki. 

A roar broke from the crowd. In a twinkling the 
somber spirit broke to let out the devil. “The time was evil. 
Long had the war oppression and passion been dammed in 
the breasts of these Indians. “Their wrongs burned for re- 
venge. Some of their number were undoubtedly the worse 
for liquor. But one of this crowd recognized the peril to 
Friel and chose to divert it. He yelled piercingly and split 
the cordon of Indians closing around the missionary. 

That piercing yell not only silenced the angry Nokis; it 
gave Marian the most startling shock of her life. She recog- 
nized that voice. 

The tall Nopah reached Friel’s side and his long arms 
grasped the taut lasso. With one powerful lunge he jerked 
the Noki from his horse. 

That tall form! ‘That action! Marian thought she had 
lost her mind. Then the Nopah, in recovering from this 
exertion, rose to expose his face. 

Nophaie! Marian screamed the name, but no sound left 


258 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


her lips. She reeled in her saddle. She clutched the pom- 
mel. A terrible uplift of her heart seemed to end in burst- 
ing gush of blood all over her. 

One sweep of long arms sent the noose flying from Friel’s 


neck. How ghastly and livid his face! He fell against the | 


Indian, either in collapse or feigning faint, 

The Indian braced Friel, shook him hard, hauled and 
pushed him through the crowd, and released him at the 
door of the school. Friel staggered in out of sight. When 
the Indian turned to face the crowd, tall, lithe, with sin- 
gularly free stride, Marian assuredly recognized Nophaie. 
He began to push back members of that mob, once again 


pressing toward the schoolhouse. Other Indians, guided by — 


his example, fell in line to avert further violence, and at 
length the whole mass, sullen and gesticulating, was forced 
back into the village. 


It was afternoon and Marian waited in Paxton’s sitting © 


room for Nophaie. 

She had met Withers at the post. He had come to Mesa 
with Nophaie to take her back to Kaidab. “They needed her 
there. Outside the dark day had grown colder and grayer. 
A snow-flurry whitened the ground. “The wind mourned. 
Withers had said Nophaie looked well enough. No one 
could tell! He had reached the reservation from a point on 
the railroad east of Flagerstown. ‘T'wo whole days! Forty- 
eight hours he had been on the desert without her knowledge! 
He had ridden down to the village to find her. God indeed 
had smiled on a missionary that day. A Nopah had saved 
his life. 

Would Nophaie never come? Withers had gone to fetch 
him back. But Marian could not wait. If she could only 
see him, feel him, make sure this was not the madness of a 
dream—then she could be calm, unutterably thankful, strong 
to stand any shock! 


Suddenly she heard a step. Soft, quick, padded sound of — 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 259 


Indian moccasin! Her heart stopped beating. Nophaie en- 
tered. He was the Indian of her memories. 

“Benow di cleash,” he said, in voice that was rich and 
happy. 

She raised both arms and lips before strength left her. 
‘Then as he enveloped her she needed nothing but to feel. 
One woman’s flash of sight—the keen, dark Indian face, 
thinner, finer, softening in its bronze—then she could see 
no more. But she felt—rippling of muscles that clasped and 
set round her like iron bands. Pressed against his wide 
breast, she felt its heave and pound. And his lips! 


“Oh, you seem well! Are you well?” Marian was say- 
ing, later, for what seemed the hundredth time. 

“Well, yes—but I'll never again climb the north wall of 
Nothsis Ahn,” he replied, with a sad smile. 

“Nophaie! Oh, I am not quite myself,” she whispered. 
“You feel strong—you look the same. . .. No, there’s a 
strange change.... Your eyes! ... Nophaie, your 
mouth! ‘They twitch.” 

‘““That’s only shell shock,” he said. “It will pass away. 
Really I am pretty well, considering. The gas left me 
liable to consumption, but I haven’t got it yet. And my 
old sage uplands will cure me.” 

Marian could scarcely believe her eyes. She had ex- 
pected to see him maimed, broken, aged, wrecked, but he was 
none of these. Slowly she realized. ‘Then she espied a 
medal on the dark velveteen shirt he wore. His D.S.! 
How did he win that? Was she not a woman? 

“Benow di cleash, my dearest, I’ve not been to pink teas, 
like the ones you used to drag me to at Cape May,” he re- 
plied, with a laugh that signalized the acuteness of her joy. 

“You fought! Oh, I’ve heard!” she cried out. “The 
Withers boy wrote home. He had met a soldier who knew 
you—told him all about you. . . . Munson!” 

“Yes. We met over there. But soldiers are apt to be 
quiet about themselves and to praise the other fellow.” 


260 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


“Nophaie—forgive me—something in me demands to 
know,” she said, unable to repress her strange emotion. “I 
—TI think loving you and living out here has made me—a 
little more American than I was. . .. More Indian! Did 
you play football with any Germans?” | 

He laughed, but not the same way. For an instant he 
seemed no longer Nophaie. 

“Benow di cleash, I did—yes. I got into a field of Ger- 
mans—scattered—running like the old football players... . 
Only I had a bayonet!” ; 





CHAPTER XX 


A MODERATION of the severe January weather at- 
tended Marian’s arrival at Kaidab. 

Withers had said to her: “We're a pretty discouraged 
outht and we need a little of your sunshine. We all had the 
‘flu’ except Colman. Mrs. Withers isn’t her old self yet. 
That’s the worst of this queer sickness. It leaves half its 
victims with some infirmity. We're going to need you, and 
iI reckon you'll be better off and shore happier at Kaidab. 
And if it’s work you’re looking for among these poor In- 
dians—Ha!—I reckon you'll have enough. For this winter 
has started in a way to scare the daylights out of us.” 

At first Marian did not see justification for the trader’s 
grim statements. His wife was rather pale and weak, but 
she was getting well, and certainly was cheerful. The son 
was still in France, safe, now, at least, from the Germans. 
Colman had grown thin and somewhat somber, yet ap- 
peared perfectly well. “The Indian servants were identically 
the same as when Marian had last seen them. She felt that 
she must not, however, be oversanguine as to the well-being 
of the Withers household. She sensed, rather than saw, an 
encroaching shadow. 

Nophaie had no home now, except the open, and Withers 
forced him to accept room and board in his house. Marian 
was sure that one of the trader’s needs of her was to help 
him keep Nophaie from going back to the hogans of his 
people, to do which in mid-winter would be fatal for him. 

The afternoon of Marian’s arrival at Kaidab was not 
without something of pleasure and happiness. “The dark 
cloud hovered at the horizon of the mind. She herself 
brought cheer and gayety, for she felt she certainly owed 

261 


262 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


them that. Besides the proximity of Nophaie made her more 
light-headed than she would have cared to confess. 

“Marian, you should see Nophaie in the uniform he wore 
when he got here,” said Mrs. Withers. 

“His service uniform?” responded Marian, eagerly. 

“Yes, and it sure showed service.”’ 

Whereupon Marian conceived an irresistible desire to see 
Nophaie in the garb of a soldier. So she asked him to put 
it on. He refused. She importuned him, only to be again 
refused. Nophaie seemed a little strange about the matter. 
But Marian did not care, and, persisting, she followed him 
into the long hall of the Indian decorations, and there she 
waylaid him. 

“Please Nophaie, put your uniform on for me,” she begged. 
“It’s only a girl’s sentimental whim. But I don’t care what 
it is. “That girl loves you.” 

“Benow di cleash, I hate the sight of that uniform now,” 
he said. 

“Oh, why?” 

“T don’t know. I didn’t hate it until I got back here— 
on the desert—home.”’ 

“Oh! Well, you need never put it on again after this time. 
Just once for me. I want to take your picture. ‘Think—l 


© 


have pictures of you in football suit, baseball suit, Indian — 


suit, and now I want one of you as a soldier—an American 
soldier. Why not?” 

And she was not above lending her arms and lips to per- 
suasion, which quite vanquished him. 

“You're a white girl, all right,” he laughed. 

“White? Certainly, and your white girl.” 

Somehow she seemed to want to be unutterably tender and 


loving to him, as if to make up for what she owed him. But 


when she saw him stride out in his uniform she quite lost her 


teasing and affectionate mood. It was almost as if sight of © 


him had struck her dumb. ‘The slouchy loose garb of an 


Indian had never done justice to Nophaie. As a soldier he © 


seemed magnificent. She dragged him out in the sunlight and © 


RS ee 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 263 


photographed him to her satisfaction. Then all the rest of 
the afternoon, which they spent in the living room before the 
big open fireplace, she was very quiet, and watched him. 

After dinner he went to his room and returned in vel- 
veteen and corduroy, with his silver-buckled belt and moc- 
casins. Nophaie again! Marian felt glad. ‘That soldier 
uniform had obsessed her. It’s meaning was so staggering. 

Withers seemed to throw off cares of the present and 
forebodings of the future. He teased Marian and he kept 
coaxing Nophaie to tell something about the war. Marian 
added her entreaties to those of the trader. But Nophaie 
would not speak of himself. He told about the deaths of 
four of his Nopahs, all in action at the front, and each story 
had for Marian a singular tragic significance. Then he told 
about Shoie, who had turned out to be more than a bear- 
trapper of Germans. American officers discovered late 
Shoie’s remarkable gift for seeing or picking out weaknesses 
in the German front line, when they were driving. Nophaie 
said it was simply the Nopah’s wonderful eyesight. At any 
rate Shoie was sent out on scout duty, by both day and night. 
He could hide himself on apparently level bare ground. He 
needed no more cover than a jackrabbit. He had the Indian’s 
instinct for stealthiness. 

From one of his scouting trips Shoie did not return. He 
was reported among the missing. But sometime during the 
fourth night of his absence he crawled back to his own 
trenches. A sentry stumbled over him. Shoie could not 
talk, and appeared covered with blood, probably seriously 
wounded. Examination proved that he had been spiked to 
a wall through hands and feet, and his tongue had been cut 
out. As Shoie could not write his own language or under- 
stand much of the white man’s, it was difficult to find out 
what had happened to him. Indians of his own kind at 
length pieced out the probable truth of his story. He had 
ventured too far and had been captured. “The Germans had 
tried to force him to talk, or to make signs in regard to his 
regiment and trenches. ‘They did not understand an Indian. 


264 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Shoie made faces at them. “They drove spikes through his 
hands and feet and left him to hang for a day. “Then they 
tried again to make him tell what they wanted to know. 
Shoie stuck out his tongue at the intolerant Germans. ‘They 
ordered his tongue cut out. And still they left him to hang. 
That night Shoie worked the spikes through his hands, then 
pulled out those that held his feet. And he crawled across 
No Man’s Land to his own trenches. He recovered from 
his injuries. 

“Oh—monsters!”” cried out Marian. ‘Could they not 
have killed him?” 

““Benow di cleash, the Huns were like Blucher,” replied 
Nophaie. 

That was the only word he ever said against the Germans, 
the only time he ever spoke of them. 

“And is Shoie here?” queried Marian, eagerly. 

“Wal, I reckon so,” replied Withers. “He was in the 

store to-day, begging tobacco. Sure, it’s a sight when he 
tries to talk. “The Indians are more scared of him than ever. 
They think he has offended the evil spirits who had his tongue 
cut out to punish him for casting spells. Something strange 
about what’s happened to Shoie!” 
_ It was intensely interesting to hear Nophaie talk of Paris, 
and crossing on the troop-ships, and his return to New York. 
Marian could not be sure, but she divined somehow that 
women had been one of the incomprehensible side factors 
of the war. A flash of jealousy, like fire, flamed over Marian, 
only to subside to her absolute certainty of Nophaie’s 
aloofness. 

“Withers, this will interest you particularly,” said 
Nophaie, “as it deals directly with the Indian problem. .. . 
In New York I ran into one of my old college teachers. 
He remembered me well. Was not at all surprised to see me 
in Uncle Sam’s uniform. And he was glad I had done 
something. He took me to dinner and we talked over my 
school days and football records. Asked me what I was 
going to do, and if I’d like a job. I told him I was going 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 265 


home to work with my people. That made him serious. 
He said: “The work needed among the American Indians 
now lies along the line of citizenship. This government 
reservation bureau is obsolete. “The Indian myth is punc- 
tured. Whenever the Indians protest against attempts to 
civilize them it is owing to the influence of reservation offi- 
cers and politicians who want to keep their easy pickings. 
These fakers encourage the belief that the Indian question 
is still serious, and that the government must still control 
them. Almost all the Indians have been born under bureau 
administration. “They have been controlled by the political 
bureau. Most of them have learned to be dependent upon 
the government. They know nothing of white men’s ways— 
which certainly is a black mark against the Indian Bureau. 

“The Indian in the war service brought to all intelligent 
and honest American thinkers something of vital significance. 
The Indians did not have to go to fight. ‘They enlisted, 
perhaps ten thousand of them. Many were killed. “They 
were in all branches of the service. I am absolutely certain 
that these Indian soldiers were not in sympathy with the 
bunko game of adopting American generals into the tribe. 
‘That was only some more of the politician’s tricks to keep 
the reservations under government control and restrict the 
Indian to the desert. 

“And it is not only unjust to the Indian, but a detriment 
to the government and people. If never before the Indian 
has now earned a right to get out among white men if he 
wants to or to live free upon his unmolested land. If these 
Indian Bureau men were honest in their work to civilize 
Indians they would make them free and give them the rights 
of citizenship. Suppose the government restricted all the 
aliens and immigrants who settle in America. “They would 
never become real Americans as most of them do. 

“The real good to the Indian has been subordinated to 
the main issue—and that is the salary of eight thousand gov- 
ernment employees. It is a waste of money. Actually most 
of it is wasted!” 


266 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Withers then indulged in some language a good deal more 
forcible than elegant; and he concluded his outburst by asking 
Nophaie if the official had mentioned Morgan. 

“No,” returned Nophaie. “Well, when I told him how 
the missionary with the Old Book behind him actually 
governed this reservation he was dumfounded.” 

“Nophaie, how would you decide the Indian problem?” 
asked Withers. “I’ve been among Indians all my life. 
My wife knows Indians better than any other white person 
I’ve ever heard of. It’s a problem with us. As old Etenia 
says, you've got a white mind and red blood. ‘Tell us your 
angle.” 

Nophaie leaned on the high mantle and poked his moc- 
casined toe at a stick of wood fallen from the fire. He 
seemed tranquil and sad. He had a thoughtful brow. His 
eyes had the piercing look, the somber blackness peculiar to 
his kind, but they had something more, and it was much 
for this nameless light that Marian loved him. She seemed 
to see it as the soul of an Indian—a something the white 
man did not believe in. She was curious to see how Nophaie 
would answer the trader’s earnest question, and did not 
believe he would answer at all. 

“I could solve the Indian problem. First I’d exclude 
missionaries like Morgan,” he replied, with a strange, dark 
bitterness. “Then I’d give the Indian land and freedom. 
Let him work and live as he chose—send his children to 
school—move among white men and work with and for 
them. Let the Indians marry white women and Indian girls 
marry white men. It would make for a more virile race. 
No people can overcome handicaps now imposed upon us. 
Not much can be done in the way of changing or improving 
the matured Indian. But he was good enough as he was. 
‘This Indian wants none of the white man’s ways. He cares 
only for his desert and his people. He hates the idea of 
being dependent. Let him work or idle for himself. In 
time he would develop into a worker. The Indian children 
should be educated. Yes! But not taught to despise their 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN ~ 267 


parents and forego their religion. Indian children would 
learn—even as [ have learned. What ruined me was to 
make me an infidel. Let the Indian’s religion alone. .. . 
The Indian is no different from a white man—except that 
he is closer to elemental life—to primitive instincts. Ex- 
ample of the white man’s better ways would inevitably fol- 
low association. ‘The Indian will absorb, if he is not cheated 
and driven. . . . I think the Golden Rule of the white men 
is their best religion. If they practiced that the Indian 
problem would be easy.” 

Late that night after the Withers family and others of 
their household had gone to bed Marian sat a while with 
Nophaie before the glowing embers in the fireplace. 

This hour really was the happiest and most beautiful 
in its teaching of any she had ever spent with him. Much 
of his bitterness had vanished. If he had been great before 
he went to war, what was he now? Marian could only feel 
little, humble, adoring, before this strange composite of a 
man. For Marian he was now more of a lover than he had 
ever been. Marian trembled a little, fearful even in her 
hour of bliss) Why had he let down his Indian reserve? 
What did he know that she did not? If he had gotten rid 
of the scourge of his soul—his unbelief—he would have 
told her. But she would have divined that. Nophaie was 
_at once closer to her than ever, yet farther away. All she 
could do was to grasp at the skirts of the happy and thrilling 
and thought-provoking hour. 


Next day Marian encountered Shoie. It seemed to her 
that Withers tried to attract her attention from the Indians 
in the trading post, but he was not successful. 

She went into the store, back of the counter, and drew 
closer to this Indian hero who had been mutilated by the 
Germans. She did not recognize Shoie. He was some 
other Indian, like the evil spirit he claimed to possess. His 
face had been strangely lacerated, and he resembled a crea- 


268 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


ture distorted by demoniacal laughter. Shoie was a physical 
wreck. His Indian garb, that manifestly he had acquired 
from an Indian of larger stature, hung loosely upon him, 
and it was ragged. She did not see how he could keep warm, 
for he had no blanket. And he huddled over the stove. 
Presently he observed that Marian was looking at him. She 
could not tell whether he was angry or glad. He opened his 
mouth. His scarred lips moved to let out a strange sound. 
It bore no semblance to words. Yet how plain it was that 
he tried to speak! Only a roar issued from that tongueless 
cavity. “To Marian it was horrible. She fled. 


Bad news arrived that day, along with more raw, cloudy 
weather. Both white travelers and Nopah couriers reported 
increasing illness in the sections of desert they had traversed. 

“It’s come,” grated out Withers, somber as an Indian. 


That night the desert wind mourned under the eaves 
of the house. Marian could not sleep for a long while. 
How mournful! It wailed low and rose to a shriek and 
lulled again. It made Marian shiver. It had an unearthly 
sound. Its portent was storm, cold, evil, plague, death, 
desolation. 

At dawn a blizzard was blowing. Snow and sleet and 
dust sheeted across the bleak levels, obscuring the mesa. 
It lasted two days, and broke to raw rain that melted most 
of the snow. ‘Then sleet again, followed by bitter cold! 
The sun did not show. At night the moon and stars were 
hidden. A dark leaden rolling canopy obscured the heavens. 

Nophaie rode the ranges. Neither Withers nor Marian 
could keep him in. And the concluding weeks of that month — 
brought the catastrophe Withers had predicted. 

The Indians were caught like rats in a trap. ‘Their 
hogans were no places to fight influenza. ‘Three months of 
growing poverty had suddenly culminated in a terrible 
situation. “hese Indians had saved no money. ‘They had 
only horses, sheep, and corn. ‘The price of wool fell to 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 269 


nothing. Withers managed to hold the best of the blanket 
weavers working at a loss to himself. He kept these families. 
And no Indian was turned away empty-handed from the 
store. Meat and corn were about all most of the Nopahs 
had to eat, and the time came when many of them did not 
have that. From a prosperous people they fell in six months 
to a starving people, at the mercy of a disease that seemed 
fatal to most. It killed them quickly. ‘Those it did not 
kill it left blind or infirm or deaf. 

In February hundreds died of the disease, within a radius 
of fifty miles of Kaidab. Whole families were taken. For 
many more days the sun did not shine, and the nights were 
black. ‘The Indians thought the sun and moon had failed 
them. “The medicine men prevailed upon them to believe 
that the only thing left to save them was the eating of 
horseflesh. “Cherefore they killed and ate great numbers of 
their best horses. 


One morning Colman found a dead Nopah lying beside 
the stove in the trading post. He had probably hidden behind 
the counter while the trader was locking up. Apparently he 
had not been ill the previous day. But the influenza had 
attacked him in the night and had killed him. 

This mystery and terrible nature of the disease absolutely 
appalled the Indians. “They could not regard it as a natural 
sickness. It was a scourge of the evil one. And most 
certainly it was not a sickness carried by one Indian to 
another, though just as certainly it was contagious. It 
struck here and there and everywhere. Lone sheepherders 
who had not been seen or met by any Nopah for weeks 
were found dead. Hogans full of Indians were found dead. 
Young and old went alike, but the strong and _ healthy 
braves in the prime of life were killed quickest. Peculiarly 
raw and brutal were the ravages of the scourge. It came 
unawares like a lightning stroke. And the Indian suddenly 
filled with palsy and fever surrendered at once. He was 
like a wolf caught in a trap, stricken, spiritless, ready for 


270 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


death. The proud spirit of Nopah bowed under this brand 
ot his evil gods. 


“Tnfluenza—pneumonia?”’ queried Withers, scoffingly. 
“Hell! It’s a plague. A black plague. A war plague! 
Don’t I know these Indians? Why, bad colds and pneu- 
monia are nothing. But this damned disease is a beast of 
hell. Don’t talk to me of germs. It’s no germ. It strikes 
from the air. It comes down. It must be some of that infer- 
nal gas the Huns let loose on the world. How else can we 
explain the strange way it acts? Yesterday some Mormons 
rode through. ‘They told of meeting seven Nopahs on the 
trail. These Nopahs were O.K. Next day they went 
down in aheap. I sent men over there. Six of the Nopahs 
were dead. A little boy was living, half buried under the 
dead bodies. Old Etenia fell off his horse and died in two 
hours. His family has been nearly wiped out. Nopahs die 
on their way here. Do you think they were sick when they 
started? ‘That’s what jars me—the way it strikes these 
Indians and how quick it kills! A white man will fight, but 
an Indian won’t. Not this plague! It has got his goat, 
as the cowboys say.” 

In the midst of this tragic time Withers received word 
that Gekin Yashi had fallen victim to the dread malady. 
A sick Indian rode in with the news, disclosing the where- 
abouts of the Little Beauty. She was married to Beeteia, 
a young Nopah chief who had been to France, but who 
had never given Withers a hint that might have cleared 
up the mystery of her disappearance. | 

“Just like a Nopah!” ejaculated the trader. ‘Well, 
Gekin Yashi is down with ‘flu.’ It’ll kill her—almost sure. 
Maybe we can get her out in time. Her husband’s a fine 
Nopah. His hogan is somewhere up Nugi Canyon. I’ve 
sent Indians with horses to the mouth of the canyon. I'll 
take the car. Maybe I can drive up to the pass—maybe to 
the canyon. . . . Give me medicines and whiskey.” 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 271 


He had been talking to Colman and his wife. Marian 
sat beside the fire, startled and grieved into silence. Sud- 
denly Nophaie entered, unfolding his blanket. His quirt 
hung on his wrist. Snowflakes gleamed on his sombrero. 

“Ah! MHere’s Nophaie,” said Withers. “I was hoping 
you'd get back. Have you heard about Gekin Yashi?” 

“Yes. We must hurry. She is dying. And she has a 
baby.” 

Marian leaped up, stung into action. “Let me yo with 
you,” she entreated. 

Nophaie showed less willingness to take her than Withers. 
But Marian prevailed upon both of them, helped by Mrs. 
Withers. 

“Bundle up warm. ‘Take a hot stone for your feet,’’ she 
advised, ‘“‘and don’t get either overheated or chilled. It’s a 
squally day—storm and shine.” 

“Don’t count the shine,” observed Withers. “You'll have 
to ride against the wind. Reckon you'll not forget it.” 


The ride in the car, with a hot stone at her feet and 
heavy blankets round her and over her face, was not much 
for Marian to endure. But when she got into the saddle, 
headed toward the wind, it was a different matter. 

The day was not far advanced, and the sky appeared 
divided into sections of lowering gray pall, broken purple 
clouds, and steely blue sky. The sun shone fitfully. At 
the outset the cold was not bitter, though the wind cut like 
a knife. 

Neither sad errand nor inevitable discomfort could keep 
Marian from being responsive to other sensations. ‘The 
mouth of Nugi Canyon yawned wide, a jagged red-cliffed 
portal, specked with white snow-patches and black cedar 
trees. The bold faces of stone were glistening wet. A 
deep wash meandered out of the canyon. Cold and wintry 
as was the scene it held fascination for Marian; and though 
not in any degree so magnificent as Pahute Canyon it was 
impressive and beautiful. ‘The towers stood up carved, 


272 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


cragged, creviced, yellow in the sun, red in the shade, white 
on the north summits. 

A familiar yet strange sensation assailed Marian—some- 
thing which at first she was at a loss to define. Presently, 
however, she associated it with the icy, cutting, tangible 
quality of the air, and from that she discovered it was a 
faint fragrance of sage. Again she had come in contact with 
the most significant feature of the uplands. But she could 
not see any sage and concluded it must be farther on. 

The threatened storm held off and the wind appeared 
to be shifting and falling. Marian grew fairly comfortable 
in the saddle, warming to the exercise. And when the clouds 
broke and the sun shone forth she had opportunity to see 
this canyon. 

It appeared to be a grand winding portal into the solid 
rock bulk of the upland desert. Pahute Canyon was too 
deep and wide and tremendous to grasp. “This canyon was 
on a scale that did not stun the faculties. It had a noble 
outline of rim, exceedingly broken into spires, domes, crags, 
peaks, monuments, escarpments, promontories; and the side 
canyons intersecting it were too numerous to count. ‘That 
appeared its most singular feature. At one point Marian 
rode across a wide open space that might have been 
classified as the hub of a wheel, from which many canyon 
spokes ran off in all directions. From above Nugi Canyon 
must have had the shape of a centipede, with the main canyon 
constituting the body, and the fringe of side canyons the legs. 

About five or six miles up the Nugi there came a change 
of conformation. It spread wider, the cliffs lowered, the 
prospective was much better because the former overpower- 
ing proximity was now gone. Marian was now not so close 
to the canyon that she could not see it. 

Wide flats of greasewood sloped up gradually from the 
steep red-earth banks of the wash. A shallow muddy creek, 
lined with shelves of dust-colored ice, wound between them. 
Riding across this creek, which had to be done several times, 
was an ordeal for Marian. ‘The ice shelves broke under 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 273 


the hoofs of the horses; and they had to trot through the 
water to keep from miring in quicksand. ‘The steep trails 
up soft sandy banks further worried her. She had to grasp 
pommel and mane to hang on; and when she rode down, 
that was worse, because she slid far forward. 

“Benow di cleash, do you see there is no feed for horses 
or sheep here?’ asked Nophaie, turning once to wave his 
hand toward the flats. ‘“This used to be the most fertile of 
canyons. ‘Iwo dry years! And do you see the empty 
hogans ?” 

Marian had not observed either of these features. But 
now the fact struck her forcibly. How bare the soil! Not 
a blade of bleached grass! Dead greasewood, gray as ashes, 
vied with the stunted cedars and a few scrubby oaks in 
relieving the barrenness of the canyon floor. Long slopes 
of yellow sand, spotted with horse tracks, ran up from the 
wash. Slopes of snow showed white in protected places on 
the north side. 

Gradually the trail climbed, and gradually the canyon 
took on more of beauty and less of grandeur. “The colors 
grew brighter. Patches of purple sage made wonderful 
contrast to the red cliffs. “This softer aspect accentuated 
the loneliness and desolateness of the deserted hogans. How 
dark, haunting the eye-like doors, facing the east! No 
more did Indian rise to stand on his threshold, to see the 
sun break over the eastern ramparts! A melancholy stillness 
pervaded the atmosphere of this canyon. No sound, no liv- 
ing creature! Winter had locked the canyon in its grip, 
but there was more than winter to hold accountable for the 
solitude, the seeming death of life. 

A gray moving cloud, low down, filling the canyon thickly 
as fog, came swooping down. It was a snow-squall. It 


_ obscured cliffs, side canyons, turrets and towers, yet Marian 


| 
| 


could see its upper margin, a soft rolling gray mass, against 
the blue of sky. 
Withers led off to the left into one of the intersecting 


canyons. It looked narrow, steep-sided, gloomy, and mys- 


274 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


terious under the approaching storm. When the snow 
reached Marian she had a few moments of exhilaration in 
the feathery white pall; and then as it came thick and cold 
she protected her face and paid attention only to the trail. 

That appeared to go on end more than its predecessors. 
Marian rode up and down until she felt she was not sure 
of her equilibrium. Finally the trail took to the bottom of 
a wash, on a stream bed of sand and icy sheets and an inch 
of clear water. ‘The snow squall lost its vigor, thinned out, ~ 
and began to blow away as it had come. 

Suddenly Marian saw a strange radiance. She looked 
up. The snow was still slanting down, large white flakes 
far apart, and they seemed to be of some exquisite com- 
posite hue. Blue—white—gold! Or was it only the strange 
light? Marian had never seen the like. ‘The sun was 
shining somewhere and through the marvelous moving veil 
of snow gleamed the blue sky. How unreal! ‘Then it be- 
came a transparent medium, revealing the golden rims of 
canyon above, and magnified a tower into a Babel of mosaics. 
Clearer, more amber, grew the light; and soon purple 
slopes of sage rose from the streambed to the snow-banks 
under the cliffs. Here the sage gave off pungent odor too 
thick and powerful to be fragrance. It was a breath, cold, 
spicy, intoxicating. The storm swept on, wreathing the 
rims and filling the narrow canyon behind. To the fore 
all was clear once more—blue sky—golden towers—gleam- 
ing down upon a closed notched end of this canyon. It was 
a wild, beautiful place, inclosed by wet-faced cliffs, fringed 
by black spruce, sloped in snow and sage. 

When Withers rode up a bank, and into a clump of 
cedars to dismount before a hogan, Marian realized with 
a shock that she was at the end of the ride. She had for- 
gotten its portent. 

Nophaie slid of his horse, and dropping his blanket 
from his shoulders he bent his lofty form and entered the 
hogan. Withers ordered the two Indians he had brought 
with him to build a fire under the cedars. 


CNIHGd NOANVOD MOUYAVN AHL ONITIA GNV SWIX FHL ONIHLVAUM ‘NO LdaMS WHOLS AHL 











LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
URBANA 








THE VANISHING AMERICAN | 275 


“Get down and exercise a bit,’ he said to Marian. 
“They'll soon have a fire to warm you.” 

“Won’t—you let me see Gekin Yashi?” asked Marian, 
with hesitation. 

“Yes—but wait,” he replied, and taking a saddle-bag off 
his saddle he hurried into the hogan. 

Marian had scarcely dismounted before the trader came 
out again, with a look on his face that made Marian’s halting 
lips stiffen. 

“Too late!’ he ejaculated, a little huskily. ‘Gekin Yashi 
died in the night. Beeteia’s mother must have gone some- 
time yesterday. .. . And—” 

“Some one said there was a—a baby,” faltered Marian, 
as the trader hesitated. 

“Come here to the fire,” rejoined the practical Withers. 
“You look blue... . Yes, there is a baby—and it’s half 
white, as any one could see. . . . It’s about gone too, breath- 
ing its last. I can’t do anything but stay—and bury them.” 

“Oh! Withers, let me go into the hogan?” asked Marian. 

“What for? It’s no sight for you—let alone the risk.” 

“Tm not afraid of sight or risk. Please. I feel its a 
duty. . . . 1 cared for Gekin Yashi.”’ 

“Reckon that’s one reason why I’d rather you remem- 
bered her as she used to be. . . . By God! every white man 
who has wronged an Indian girl should see Gekin Yashi 
now!” 

“T will never forget the Little Beauty of the Nopahs,” 
murmured Marian, sorrowfully. 

“All right—you can go, but wait,’ went on Withers. 
“I want to tell you something. Beeteia was one of the 
best of the young Nopahs. He had loved Gekin Yashi 
since she was a kid. But she didn’t care for him, and 
Do etin wouldn’t make her marry him. She ran off from 
the school at Mesa—in her shame. For Gekin Yashi was as 
good as she was pretty. But if she did run off it was made 
easy for her. Beeteia found her—his brother, who’s with 
us, told me—and he took her home and married her. The 


276 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


half-white baby was welcome, too. Now he’s in there 
holding on to the poor little dying beggar—as if it were 
his own.” 

It took courage for Marian to walk up to that hogan — 
and enter. ‘The smouldering fire was almost out. She saw 
Nophaie sitting with bowed head beside a young Nopah— 
the counterpart of hundreds she had seen—who held a four 
or five months old baby on his lap. | 

Nophaie did not look up; neither did the other Indian. 
Marian bent over that tiny bundle and peered into the 
convulsed face. How dark the Indian’s hand alongside of 
the baby’s cheek! Even as Marian gazed an indefinable 
changing reached its culmination and set. She believed that — 
had been the passing instant of life. Marian felt the draw- 
ing back of her instinctive self, repelled and chilled at heart. 

Beyond these sitting Indians lay a blanketed form close 
to the hogan wall. It suggested the inanimate nature of 
stone. Snow had drifted in through the open framework of © 
the hogan upon the folds of blanket. Behind Marian on 
the other side next the wall lay a slighter form, not wholly 
covered. Marian saw raven-black hair and shape of head 
she thought she recognized. 

“Nophaie,” she whispered. ‘“This—this one must be 
Gekin Yashi.” 

“Yes,” replied Nophaie, and rising he stripped back the 
blanket from the dead girl. 

At once Marian recognized Gekin Yashi and yet did not 
know her. Could this be the face of a sixteen-year-old 
girl? Disease and death had distorted and blackened it, 
but this change was not alone what Marian imagined she 
saw. Gekin Yashi’s songs and dreams and ideals had died 
before her flesh. She looked a matured, settled Indian 
wife. She had gone back to the Indian way of thought and 
feeling, somber, mystic, without bitterness or hope, pagan 
or barbarian now, infinitely worse off for her contact with 
civilization. 

Marian fled out of the hogan, back to the fire under the 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN) 277 


cedar. A horror possessed her—of she knew not what. 
Her own religion and faith rocked on its foundation. 
Plague and death were terrible, but not so terrible to con- 
template as human nature, passion, hate, and life. Gekin 
Yashi had passed away. It was better so. Bruised, trampled 
flower of the desert! Had she not cried out to Marian, 
“No one ever tells me beautiful things!’ What was that 
cry of the soul? How great had been the potentiality of 
that awakening mind? 

Marian’s poignant reflections were interrupted by the 
voice of Withers inside the hogan. 

“Nophaie, the baby is dead. Make Beeteia give it up. 
We've got to bury these Indians and beat it out of here 
pronto.” 

Marian spread her cold and trembling hands to the fire. 
Somehow the trenchant words of the practical trader roused 
her out of the depths. Such men as Withers bore the 
greater burdens. He had kindness, sympathy, but he dealt 
with the cold hard facts. He was making himself a poor 
man for this Nopah tribe and working like a galley slave and 
risking his life. “Through him Marian saw more of the 
truth. And it roused a revolt in her—against weakness 
and a too great leaning toward idealism and altruism— 
and for the moment against this stark and awful plague of 
influenza. 

Nophaie might be taken. He would be if he kept riding 
the range day and night, exposing himself to both bitter 
weather and the disease. “The fear struck at Marian’s 
heart. It did not pass. It shook her and stormed her. 
If there were lioness instinct in her it raged then. 

Withers strode out of the hogan, accompanied by the 
Indians. 

“Get the tools,’ he said, pointing to the pack he had 
brought. 

Nophaie remained beside the hogan door where Beeteia 
leaned, a tragic and strangely striking figure. He seemed a 
groper in the dark. ‘Trouble and grief burdened him, like 


278 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


weights. He did not seem to hear the earnest words of 
Nophaie or see the tall form before him. Marian sensed — 
a terrible revolt in him. : 
Beyond the hogan, in a level patch of sage half-circled | 
by cedars, Withers set the two Indians to digging graves. 
Then the trader approached the hogan and, wielding an 
ax began to chop a hole through the earthen covering and ~ 
interlaced poles beneath. Marian remembered that the | 
dead bodies of Indians should not be taken out at the door. — 
Manifestly, where it was possible Withers did not spare 
himself in observing the customs of these people of the desert. — 
Beeteia turned away from Nophaie and went back to his 
dead. Marian called Nophaie to her, and she led him © 
behind the clump of cedars, where the horses were nibbling © 
at the sage. Nophaie’s mind seemed clouded. She held his © 
hand, endeavoring to quell her mounting excitation. ‘The © 
sun had come out momentarily, crowning the towers with — 
gold. How deeply purple bloomed the sage! , 
“Benow di cleash, you should not have come,” said 7 
Nophaie, regretfully. q 
“I’m glad. It has hurt me—done something more than 7 
that,” she replied. “I was sick—sick deep in my soul. 7 
But I’m over it, I think . . . and now I want to talk.” 
““Why—you’re white—you’re shaking!’ he exclaimed. ~~ 
“Ts it any wonder? Nophaie, I love you—and I’m terror- © 
stricken. . . . This awful plague!” q 
He did not reply, but his hands pressed hers closely and © 
his eyes dilated. Marian had learned to sense in him the © 
mystic, the Indian, when it stirred. She wrenched her 
hands free and then threw her arms around his neck. The’ 
action liberated and augmented the storm in her breast. 
What she had meant to express utterly, in her frenzy to save 
Nophaie and make him take her out of the desert, burst all 
bounds of woman’s subtlety and deliberation. What she said 
or did in this mad moment of self-preservation she never 
realized. But she awakened to a terrifying consciousness © 
that she had inflamed the savage in Nophaie. | 














THE VANISHING AMERICAN = 279 


He crushed her in his arms and bent to her face with 
eyes of black fire. He did not kiss her. ‘That was not the 
Indian way. ‘Tenderness, gentleness, love had no part in this 
response to her woman’s allurement. His mastery was that 
of the primal man denied; his brutality went to the verge 
of serious injury to her. But for the glory of it—the sheer 
backward step to the uttermost thrill of the senses—deep in 
the marrow of her bones—she would have screamed out 
in her pain. For he handled her, bent her, swung and 
lifted her, and flattened her body as might have a savage 
in sudden possession of a hitherto unconquerable and unat- 
tainable woman of the wilds. 

Like a sack he threw her across her saddle, head and 
feet hanging. But Marian, once partially free of his iron 
arms, struggled and rose, and got into better position on 
her horse. She reeled against Nophaie. She could scarcely 
see. But she felt release from his grip. Something checked 
him, and his blurred face began to grow distinct—to come 
closer—until it pressed against her bosom. 

“White woman—you’ll make—an Indian of me,” he 
panted, in husky, spent passion. 

It pierced Marian. What more strange, incomprehensible 
appeal could he have made? Yet how deep it struck! 
She—who had loved the nobility of him—to drag him from 
the heights! To use her physical charm, her power in 
supreme selfishness! It was damnable. It showed the in- 
herent nature of the female. She abhorred it. “Then came 
her struggle. Only the tragedy of this Indian man could 
ever have mastered the woman at that moment. Gekin 
Yashi, the poor demented Shoie, Beeteia and his unquench- 
able sense of loss, Do etin and Maahasenie—these strange 
figures loomed beside Nophaie’s. “That was a terrible mo- 
ment. She could work her will with Nophaie. Nature 
had made the man stronger, but the ultimate victory was 
woman’s. But what of the soul? Could she deny it, crush 
it, repudiate it? 

“Nophaie—forgive!”’ she whispered, encircling his head 


280 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


with her arms, and pressing it closer to her breast. “I’ve 
been—beside myself. This plague—this death has made me 
a coward. And I tried to make you—’ 

“Benow di cleash, that’ll be about all,” he said, raising 
his face, and he smiled through tears. 


An hour later Withers’s melancholy task had been com- 
pleted. Beeteia refused to leave with the party. Marian’s 


So ee) _—— 


last sight of him was one she could never forget—the dark- ~ 
faced Indian standing before the hogan he could never — 
enter again, peering across the graves of his mother and — 
wife, and the ill-gotten baby he had meant to father—across ~ 


the gray sage flat to the blank walls of stone. What did 
he see? What did he hear? Whence came his strength? 


lead. 


“T can’t do more. He wouldn’t come. “That Nopah is 


Withers grumbled as he rode past Marian, to take the 


— 


going to do something terrible. He worries me. . . . Well, © 
it'll be a hard ride back. Rustle along. Get-up, Buckskin!” 


Snow began to fall and the canyon grew gray as twilight. 


Marian followed the others at a brisk trot. The air had ~ 
grown colder. When they rode up into the open reach of © 
the main canyon a driving wind made riding against it some-_ 
thing to endure. Gray, dull, somber, and dreary wound the 


Nugi, with palls of snow swooping low down, roaring 
through the cedars. The snow was wet. It adhered to 
Marian’s clothes, and grew thicker as she rode on. She_ 
could scarcely see where to guide her horse. And she 
suffered with the cold. 

That snow-squall passed to permit wider prospect of 
gloomy canyon, obscured towers, white mantled rims, dark 
caverns, and forlorn barren benches. Another storm, with 
long gray veils sweeping the cliffs, came up the canyon. 
The wind and snow made a sweeping whine through the 
cedars. As fast as Marian shook off the white covering it 
returned, until, too weak and frozen to try any longer, 
she gave up. Branches of cedar stung her cold face. When 


™" a 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN _ 281 


at last she reached the end of that ride she was indeed glad 
to let Nophaie lift her off the horse. 

The car ploughed homeward through snow and mud, 
down out of the pass into level valley. Again the gray 
masses of clouds spread and rolled away. 

Marian saw the great tilted ledges, mountains in them- 
selves, the tip of the lonely black sentinel above the red 
north wall, the round-knobbed horizon line to the east, and 
the gray cold wet waste of the desert. 


CHAPTER XXI 


















HREE thousand Nopahs died of the plague, and from _ 
one end of the reservation to the other a stricken, be- | 
wildered, and crushed people bowed their heads. The ex-— 
ceedingly malignant form of the influenza and the supersti- 
tious convictions of the fatalistic Indians united to create a” 
deadly medium. When spring came, with its warm sun, _ 
dissipating the strange wind of death, the Indians believed 
that the eating of horseflesh had saved them. | 
Slowly the clutch of fear loosed its possession of Marian’s | 
heart. Slowly the long spell of gloom yielded to a hope in-~ 
spired by sunshine and a steady decline in the death-rate of 
Nopahs. Yet not wholly did her old spirit return. There’ 
was something ineradicable—vague, tenacious, inscrutable—_ 
something she felt every time Nophaie smiled at her. . 
They all worked to alleviate the sufferings of the In-’ 
dians. If the trader had ever saved any money, he lost) 
it all and more that winter. Marian’s means had shrunken) 
to almost nothing. Civilization seemed far away, absorbed 
in its own problems. ‘The affairs of the reservation moved? 
on as always. And the little circle of white people at Kai-) 
dab lived true to something the Indians had inspired in’ 
them, forgotten by the outside world. 


March with its last icy breath of winter yielded to April 
with its sandstorms. ‘The wind blew a gale one day and the 
next was calm, warm, with spring in the air. Only a few 
cases of influenza were reported, and deaths but seldom. _ 

Yet Marian could not quite feel free. ‘The tentacles of a 
deep-seated emotion, stranger than love, still were fastened 
in her heart. | 

282 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 283 


Nophaie had ridden to Oljato, and when he did not 
return the following day the nameless thing that was 
neither thought nor feeling laid its cold hand on Marian’s 
soul, 

She worked on Withers’s accounts that day; she wrote 
long-neglected letters; she busied herself for an hour over 
a sadly depleted and worn wardrobe; she rode horseback, 
out to the rocky ridge above Kaidab, and strained her eyes 
on the trail of Oljato. 

But these energies did not allay her nervousness or quell 
the woman’s sixth sense. She tried the trading post, which 
of late had been hard to bear. Hungry, gaunt Indians 
would come in and stand around, staring with great dark 
eyes until Withers or Colman gave them something to eat. 
It was a starved tribe now. 

Marian saw Indians carrying bows and arrows, a cus- 
tom long past, which had been resumed because the hunters 
had sold their guns or could not buy ammunition. Wool 
had practically ceased its use as a means of trade. The In- 
dians would not shear sheep for the price offered. A few 
goatskins and an occasional blanket were bartered over the 
counter. It was distressing to watch an Indian woman 
come in with a blanket, often a poorly made one that Withers 
did not want and could not sell, and haggle over a price 
which was ruinous for the trader to offer. In this way 
Withers kept alive the Nopahs of his district. “They did not 
thank him, for none of them understood. 

This day Marian encountered Shoie again, and despite the 
feeling almost of horror that he incited she resolutely stood 
her ground and watched him. Shoie’s companion was a 
young Nopah, very dark and wild looking, ragged and un- 
kempt, with a crippled foot. Something about this second 
Indian impelled Marian’s sensitiveness even more than Shoie. 
He was watching Shoie’s signs and the contortions of his 
lacerated lips as he tried to convey some meaning. Withers 
observed Marian’s perplexity and gave her his interpretation. 

“That crippled Nopah is one of the few criminals of the 


284 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


tribe. He’s the Indian who assaulted one of Etenia’s little 
daughters. ‘They caught him and held his foot in the fire 
until it was burned to a crisp. “That was his punishment 


and he is now an outcast. I reckon Shoie is trying to say 


that he’ll cast an evil spell over him.” 


Marian earned her momentary forgetfulness of self then 
in contemplation of these two Indians. Extremes as they — 
were, they fixed her mind on the mystery of life. A 
monstrosity she had seen at Copenwashie, a Noki albino In- © 
dian, white-haired and pink-eyed, hideous to behold, had not — 
affected her as either of these two Nopahs. She compared © 
them with Ba ho zohnie and Nophaie. But when thought ~ 


of Nophaie recurred she could no longer stay in the store. 


Outside it was growing cool. The sun had set, and there — 


shone a ruddy effulgence over the tilted sections of wall in 


the west. Coyotes were wailing. Marian walked in the ~ 


twilight. It seemed an immense and living thing, moving 


up out of the desert. An oppression weighed upon her. 


f 


How dark and lonely the empty space out beyond! ‘The 


stone-walled confines of the wasteland flung their menace at 


her thinking mind. 


Withers appeared unusually quiet that night. His wife 
talked a little, in her low voice, grown like an Indian’s. 


But the trader had not much to say. Marian sat beside 


i 
y 


5 
‘ 
; 
} 


) 
’ 


‘i 


the hearth, with eyes on the glowing white and gold embers. : 


Suddenly she was startled out of her reveries. 
“What was that?” she asked. 
“Horse. Must be Nophaie,” replied the trader, as if 
relieved. ; 


Marian sat still, listening. But she heard on a strange 


knocking at her heart. At length the door opened with a 
sweep. Nophaie! His eyes were those of an Indian, but his 
face seemed that of a white man. He staggered slightly 
as he closed the door behind him and leaned back against 
it. His whole body was in vibration, strung, like that of 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN ~ 285 


an athlete about to leap. His piercing gaze left Marian’s 
face to search the trader’s. 

“John—give me a room to die in!”’ 

Withers gasped and sank back limp. His wife uttered a 
frightened and compassionate cry. 

“Its got me!” whispered Nophaie. 

Marian’s terror voiced its divination of her nameless 
instinct. 

“Oh, my God—Nophaie!” she screamed, and ran to him. 

Nophaie reeled over her. Intense and terrible seemed the 
strain of spirit over body. He clasped her shoulders—held 
her away from him. 

“Benow di cleash, I should have been dead—hours ago. 
. . . But I had to see you. . . . I had to die as—a white 
man!” 

Marian shuddered under the strange clasp of his hands. 
They burned through her blouse. 

“White woman—savior of Nophaie—go back to your 
people. . . . All—is—well!” 

Then he collapsed against her and was caught by the 
trader. They half carried him to his room and laid him 
on the bed. ‘Then began frantic ministrations in his behalf. 
The fire of his face, the marble pallor, the hurried pulse, 
the congested lungs, the laboring heart all proclaimed the 
dread plague. 

Once in the dim lamplight, as Marian knelt beside the 
bed in agony, calling, ““Nophaie—Nophaie!” he opened his 
eyes—somber, terrible, no longer piercing with his unquench- 
able spirit; and it seemed to her that a fleeting smile, the 
old beautiful light, veiled for an instant his tragic soul and 
blessed her. 

Then it seemed to Marian that a foul black fiend began 
to thrust the life of Nophaie from her. It became a battle, 
all unconscious on the part of the victim. Poison fires 
sucked at his life’s blood. This was not an illness—not a 
disease—but a wind of death that drove out the spirit and 


286 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


loosed devastating corruption upon the living flesh. Yet the 
vitality of the Indian held it at bay. 

‘The trader entreated her to leave the bedside and at length 
dragged her back to the sitting room. “There Marian hud- 
dled down before the fire, racked with pangs. Oh! must 
this end in the futility of Nophaie’s life and of her love! © 
Mrs. Withers came and went, softly stepping, tender of — 
hand, but she did not speak. ‘The night wore on. Out- 
side the wind rose, to mourn into the dead silence. ‘The 
vines under the eaves rustled. 


Sometime in the late hours Withers came to her and © 
touched her gently. | 

“Marian,” he said, huskily. 

“‘Nophaie—he—is—gone ?”’ whispered Marian, rising. 

“No. Unconscious, but he’s stronger—or I’m crazy. | 
. .. I must tell you the strangest thing. Many of these — 
Nopahs who died of this plague turned black. . . . Nophaie © 
talked of turning white. He’s out of his head. I was 
shocked. It’s as strange as what he said, ‘John, give me a — 
room to die in!’—Marian, it must mean he is true at the | 
last—to the mind—the soul developed in him. Yet his life © 
here was one endless struggle to be true to his birthright. — 
But I don’t believe Nophaie will die. He’s past the crisis — 
that kills so many. I never saw such strife of spirit against © 
disease. It just can’t kill him.” 

Marian wrapped a blanket round her and went out into © 
the night. The cold desert wind fanned her face and 
whipped her hair. Dawn was not far away. ‘The stars © 
were paling and the blackest hour was at hand. Desert © 
and sky, the shadows, the mournful wind, the silence,—all © 
kept their secret. But life was here, and there, only a step © 
away was death. “All—is—well!” she breathed Nophaie’s 
words. Her soul seemed flooded with infinite thankfulness. — 
Perhaps the tremendous conflict in Nophaie was for more > 
than life. Her belief in God told her so. She stood once — 
more with Nophaie on the heights above the Marching — 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 287 


Rocks! Had this dark proximity to death illumined his 
unbelief ? 

The desert was to be her home, in spirit and dream. Al- 
ways it must be an irresistible influence for thought, for 
good, for the clarifying of life. She quivered with happiness 
to divine that always she was to see the upland sage of pur- 
ple, the golden-crowned monuments asleep in the sunlight, 
the long green sweep and slope, the shadows of the silent 
walls—and somewhere against that background, the Indian 
Nophaie. 


CHAPTER XXII 


OPHAIE’S return to consciousness left him with fad- 
ing memory of black hideous depths, where some- 
thing inexplicable in him had overthrown demons, 

He had expected that he would die, but now he knew he 
would live. Had he not welcomed death? A vast struggle 
had gone on within his physical being. Vaguely it seemed 
that he had been in terrible conflict with the devil over 
possession of his soul. Haunting brooding thought of this 
strange thing occupied his waking hours and lingered in his 
dreams. 

The satisfaction of the Witherses and the joy of Marian 
at his quick strides toward recovery gave Nophaie a melan- 
choly happiness. “They loved him. ‘They did not recognize 
any barrier between him and Benow di cleash. Was there 
really a barrier? What was it? He spent hours trying 
to grasp the dim facts of former convictions, vows, duties. 
They eluded him. ‘They grew dimmer. Something had 
happened to his soul or else the plague had left his mind 
impaired. 


Nophaie was up and around on the fourth day after the 
crisis of his illness. He avoided contact with the Indians, 
and indeed with his white friends also as much as that was 
possible without being discourteous. And they in turn ap- 
peared to understand and help him. Yet always while he 
sat in the warm sun of the May mornings or walked under 
the greening cottonwoods Marian’s eyes followed him. He 


felt them. And when he met her gaze at close hand there - 


shone a beautiful glad light. It thrilled him, swelled his 
288 


ee el —— 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN 289 


heart, yet he felt it to be a reckoning he must some time 
deal with. 

In a few more days Nophaie’s vigor had returned enough 
to warrant his leaving Kaidab. So, at an opportune moment, 
when he was alone with Withers and his wife and Marian, 
he spoke out about his plan. 

“John, will you give me a pack of grain and a little 
grub?” 

“What for?’ queried the trader, in quick surprise. 

“I want to ride off alone—into the sage—and the can- 
yons,” replied Nophaie, thoughtfully. 

Marian left her seat beside the fire and came to him, 
quite pale, with wondering, darkening eyes. 

“Nophaie, are you—strong enough?” she asked, fearfully. 

“It will cure or kill me,” he replied, with a smile, and 
he took her hand. 

“Reckon it’s not a bad idea,” agreed Withers, more to 
his wife than to the others. She was silent, which in her 
meant acquiescence. “Then he turned to Nophaie. “You 
can have anything you want. When’ll you go? ‘To-mor- 
row? Ill get your horse in or you can have one of mine.” 

“Yes, Pll go at sunrise, before Benow di cleash is up,” 
returned Nophaie. 

“You'll go off alone and stay alone?” queried the trader. 

“Honest Injun,” replied Nophaie. 

“Good. Reckon I don’t mind telling you I’m worried a 
little,’ went on Withers, running his hand through his 
tousled hair. “‘Beeteia has begun to play hell with the 
Indians.” 

“I knew that,” said Nophaie. 

“Beeteia!” exclaimed Marian. ‘“Isn’t that Gekin Yashi’s 
husband? ‘The young chief I saw up—there?”’ 

“That’s the Indian,” rejoined the trader. 

“Beeteia has the best blood of the Nopahs,” interposed 
Mrs. Withers. “He comes from the first clan. He’s really 
a great chief.” 

“Reckon that means more than I thought,” said her 


290 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


husband. ‘‘He’s inflaming the Indians against Morgan and — 
Blucher. I hear he’s—developed into a wonderful orator— ~ 


anyway he has never gotten over Gekin Yashi’s death. 
He is trying to get the Indians to rise against the whites. 
That’s not new by any means here on the reservation. It 


probably will fizzle out, as all the uprisings do. But it 
might not. I just don’t like Beeteia’s influence. Could he © 


be stopped, Nophaie ?”’ 

“You would have to kill him,” replied Nophaie. 

“Ahuh !—Well, all we can do is hope nothing will come 
of it,” returned the trader, rising. 


Mrs. Withers followed her husband out, leaving No- 


phaie alone with Marian. She still stood by his chair, look- — 


ing down on him. 
‘“‘Nophaie, where will you go?” she asked. 
“Tl go to Naza.” 


“So—far?” she ejaculated, with a little catch in her voice. — 


“It’s not far for me.” 


“But why Naza—if it’s only loneliness—the sage and f 


canyons you feel you need ?” she went on, earnestly. 





Nophaie released her hand and put his arm round her ~ 


waist. He felt a little shock go over her and then a long © 
tremble. The sweetness and meaning of her presence had © 
never been more potent. There seemed a difference in their — 
relation—he could not tell what. That was another thing © 


he must learn. He felt weaker, less able to hurt her. 


“Benow di cleash, I’m not sure, but I believe I’m going © 


to Naza because it’s the greatest god of the Nopahs.” 


“OQh—Nophaie!” she faltered. ‘Are you still tortured? 
You told me how all the Nopah gods failed you. Even 
Nothsis Ahn was only a gray cold mountain, without voice — 


or soul for you.” 


‘Yes, I remember, Marian,” returned Nophaie. “But I — 
don’t seem to be tortured or driven, as I was when I climbed — 
the north slope of Nothsis Ahn. It’s something I can’t — 
explain. I don’t even know that my desire to go is anything 7 





* THE VANISHING AMERICAN 291 


but physical. Yet I’m in strange mood. I want solitude. 
And somehow Naza calls. ‘There’s light—perhaps strength 
for me in those silent canyons.” 

“Oh, if you could only find peace!” murmured Marian. 


Nophaie left Kaidab before sunrise and rode out across the 
desert in the gray melancholy dawn. ‘The discordant bray 
of a burro was the only sound to break the silence. 

From a rise of ground he turned in the saddle to look 
back at the trading post. A white object, fluttering from a 
dark window, caught his quick eye. Marian was waving 
good-by to him. ‘The act was something he might have 
expected. Reining in his horse on the height of ground, he 
watched for a long significant moment, while conflicting 
emotions burdened his heart. He would answer her surely. 
The little white handkerchief fluttered more vigorously. She 
saw that he was watching her. “Then he answered with the 
slow sweeping gesture of an Indian who was going far 
across the ranges, to a place that beckoned him and from 
which he would soon return. He saw her face gleam from 
the window and he imagined the light upon it. Wheeling 
his horse, he rode down the other side of the ridge, out of 
sight of the post, and forced consciousness of Marian out of 
his mind. 

Nophaie’s mount was one of Withers’s best, a big strong 
mottled bay horse, easy-gaited and tireless. He did not ap- 
pear to note the added weight of pack and blanket tied be- 
hind the saddle. Nophaie felt dizzy and insecure, sensa- 
tions he attributed to his weakened condition. “These would 
leave him, sooner or later, and for the time being he walked 
the horse. Once out of sight of fences and cattle he began 
gradually to relax, to change, to shuffle off old morbid 
thoughts and feelings as if they had been dead scales. ‘This 
journey would be the most cardinally important one of all 
his life. He divined that, but did not know why. Would 
Naza prove to be a shrine? ‘Then he surrendered to the 
longing to give himself wholly to sensorial perceptions. 


292 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


A pink glow suffused the steely blue sky over the eastern 
ramparts, leagues to Nophaie’s right. Northward he could 
see the tip of a red butte rising above the yellow cedar- 
dotted ridges of rock. The song of a mocking-bird, the 
yelp of a coyote, the scurrying of a cottontail into the brush 
gave life to the desert scene. Nophaie smelled the wood- 
smoke from Indian hogans; he saw blanketed Nopahs watch- 


ing him from a cedar ridge; he heard the wild piercing song 


of a shepherd moving away with his flock. He avoided the 


well-beaten trails, so that he would not meet any of his — 
people. He meant not to exchange one word with a living — 


soul while on this pilgrimage. 

He crossed the deep wash, and climbing out of it, and up 
the wind-scalloped and rain-carved rocky slope beyond he 
reached a point where he might have looked down upon 
Kaidab, but he faced ahead, eyes keen to catch the first sight 
of the great valley of monuments. 

Soon he espied, from tip down to base, a massive red butte, 
with columns like a pipe organ, standing out upon the des- 
ert from the main wall of the uplands. It was still far, but 
he hoped to camp there that night and renew acquaintance 
with the sweet sage slopes where as a boy he had shepherded 
the flocks of his father. Across his senses flashed a wonder- 
ing query as to why he should long to see them now, when 
always since his return to the reservation he had avoided 
those vivid scenes of boyhood. He answered nothing; he 
refused to reflect. 

It was as if he saw the desert with new eyes. All the old 
landmarks appeared magnified. “The walls and pyramids 
that for hundreds of years had been invested with the spirits 
of his race seemed glorified in his sight, yet they were not 
idols or gods to kneel before and worship. ‘Through them 


his senses grasped at a different meaning of beauty and na- — 


ture, time and life. 


Nophaie rode down into a eink yellow-walled canyon — 
and out upon a green and sandy level, where the sun grew © 
hot and the dust puffed up in whorls. ‘The wide far-flung — 


Ee ee eee ee 





—————————— 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 293 


horizon was now lost, and he appeared encompassed by walls, 
sweeping and long, broken and irregular. For hours No- 
phaie rode on, aware of sun and wind, of the steady clip- 
clop of hoofs and the swing of the horse, of the open stretch 
of valley around him and the red and yellow walls that 
seemed to travel with him. At the far end of this stretch he 
climbed a low pass, where a colossal black shaft of rock 
speared the sky, and looked down into the Nopah valley of 
monuments where his people had lived and where he had 
been born. ‘The spectacle held him for moments. 

His destination for that day was the great pipe-organ 
mesa, now looming grandly ten miles farther on. It guarded 
the entrance to the sacred valley, where each separate monu- 
ment was a god of the Nopahs. Fatigue and exhaustion 
wore upon Nophaie. But these were nothing. Only col- 
lapse or death itself could have halted him. 

When he reached the magnificent mesa sunset was burn- 
ing the walls and monuments with gold and rose. ‘The des- 
ert floor was gray and near at hand, purple in the distance. 
Above the red barrier which he must climb on the morrow 
a glorious cloud pageant held his gaze as he leaned pant- 
ing on his horse. 

A thin stream of water wound shining down the sandy 
wash. The color of cloud and mesa flowed in it. No- 
phaie unsaddled the horse, fed him grain, and, hobbling him, 
turned him loose. Then he set about his own simple needs. 
Hunger was not in him, but he forced himself to eat. ‘This 
hard journey that he was taking would soon restore his ele- 
mental instincts. 

A soft gray twilight was creeping out from the red walls 
when Nophaie reached the spot where he had sat so many 
days as a boy, watching the sheep. It was a long ridge not 
far from the great butte. Grass and sage were thick there 
even as in his boyhood. ‘The fragrance filled his nostrils, 
and memory, sad and sweet, flooded his mind. He found the 
flat red rock where he and his sister used to sit together. 
How long ago! She was dead. All his people were gone. 


294 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nophaie gazed across the gray valley to a V-shaped crack 
in the south wall. The narrow ribbon-like stream shone 
winding out of this canyon. Up there, where the canyon 
boxed under close-looming cliffs, he had been born. Nophaie 
could remember when he was three years old. | 

“The Indian in me speaks,” he soliloquized. “It would 
have been better for me to have yielded to the plague. That 
hole in the wall was my home—this valley my playground. 
There are now no home, no kin, no play. The Indians’ 
deeds are done. His glory and dream are gone. His sun 
has set. ‘Those of him who survive the disease and drink 
and poverty forced upon him must inevitably be absorbed 
by the race that has destroyed him. Red blood into the 
white! It means the white race will gain and the Indian 
vanish. . . . Nophaie is not yet thirty, yet he feels old. He 
is ruined, he is lost. ‘There is nothing left. He too should — 
vanish. ‘This spot should be his grave. Under the sage! 
. . . Death, sleep, rest, peace!” 4 

But Nophaie’s intelligence repudiated that Indian fatalism. — 
It might be true to his instincts, but not to his mind. He ~ 
was still young. The war had not destroyed him. “The 
plague could not kill him. His body was tough as the 
desert cedar, his spirit as unquenchable as the light of the © 
sun. Every day that he lived he could mitigate in some” 
degree the misery of his race, if he chose. But his hatred— 
the hatred of Morgan and Blucher, of all the white men - 
who had wronged the Indian—that was the cancer in his 
soul. Neither an instinctive Indian life, nor one governed 
by his white education, could be happy’ while that hate 
curdled his blood. ‘Then flashed the uplifting thought that — 
the love of Marian, given him with all the wondrous” 
strength and generosity of a white woman’s heart, should — 
overcome his hate, compensate for all his sufferings, and 
raise him to a state far above revenge or bitterness. She — 
had paid him for all personal wrongs done him by her people. 

But here Nophaie felt the ignominy of his bitterness. His 
love for Benow di cleash, her love for him, did not seem to — 


ee _ 






THE VANISHING AMERICAN 295 


have power over that hate. Something more was needed. 
And suddenly he knew this was the meaning of his strange 
quest—of his pilgrimage to Naza. 

Long Nophaie reclined there in the gathering darkness. 
White stars peeped over the black ruins. ‘The cold night 
wind rose and moaned through the sage. The flicker of his 
campfire shone against the black base of the mesa. From 
far across the valley came the faint bleat of lambs, sad, 
plaintive, significant of life on the lonely desert. 


In the rosy, silent dawn, with the sunrise at his back, No- 
phaie rode into a dim and untrodden trail that climbed from 
the low country, up over the first red rampart, and on across 
a flat region of rocks and washes, up again and farther 
higher into the uplands of cedar, pifion and sage. Behind 
him the great shafts and monuments rose out of the low- 
lands, continuing to a level where Nophaie rode in the same 
red stratum. Often he turned to gaze back, to see them 
dark and majestic against the white clouds. 

Nophaie gathered strength from these surroundings, and 
from the spicy tang on the cool wind, and the slow-gathering 
sense of his agonies, like the miles, fading back of him. It 
was not that he was coming into his own again—though the 
purple sage uplands and Nothsis Ahn would soon be in 
sight; rather it seemed that he would find something new, 
all-sufficient and soul-sustaining. 

He rode up a bare slope of rock, a gradual mile in ascent, 
wavy and hummocky with ridges and hills, canyons and 
holes, yet always bare yellow rock. ‘Then he turned a great 
corner of wall and lost the backward view. ‘To the fore 
was cedared flat, mile on mile, red-rocked and green-patched, 
stretching ‘away to another wall. Nophaie rode at a trot 
now, and entered this flat belt, to come at length to a deep 
canyon. It yawned below him, half a mile in depth, with 
ragged slopes too precipitous for any but an Indian trail. 
Nophaie walked, leading the horse. The descent into the 
dry hot canyon, under the ragged cliffs, and through the 


296 THE VANISHING AMERICAN, 


maze of great blocks of red rock, down into the region of 
colored clay and dusty wash, was attended by a mounting 
joy. The old physical urge, the instinct of muscle achieve- 
ment, the fighting of unknown forces by endurances, re- 
vived in Nophaie. Climbing the opposite side was travail. 
From the rim another flat stretched out endlessly toward the 
mountain wall, now vivid in colors of red, yellow, and 
violet. 

Nophaie arrived at its base in the gray of twilight, and 
made dry camp in a clump of cedars. He was getting away 
from the Indian reservation now. Little risk of meeting 
Indians from here on! Nophaie felt strange relief, that was 
almost shame. Was he running away from his race in 
more ways than one? ‘Twenty-four hours and twice as 
many miles had removed him immeasurably from familiar 
scenes, from bound emotions. It began to be easier for him 
to hold long to the watching, listening, feeling, smelling per- 
ception that engendered happiness. If he could only aban- | 
don himself to that wholly! The night was cold, the wind - 
mourned in the cedars, the coyotes howled. | 

Next morning Nophaie climbed the barefaced mountain 
wall that seemed insurmountable. It resembled a barrier of 
human passion. Spent, wet, and burning, he fell on the rim_ 
and panted. ‘Ten days ago he had been abandoned by his 
tribe as a dead man! But his white friends had ministered : 
unto him. His white sweetheart had prayed for his life. 
She had not confessed that; no one had told a but he 
knew. He was alive. He was a man. 

Nophaie labored to his feet and MPN the horse. 
Something ineffably sweet and precious went fleeting over 
him. He could not grasp it. | 

For miles he rode through cedar and sage upland. At 
noon the tremendous chasm of Nopah yawned in sight. It 
was wide and very deep, and marked by talus of many hues— 
clays of lilac, heliotrope, and mauve. ‘There was no vege- 
tation—only a barren abyss of erosion and decay. It opened 





THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 297 


into a colored gulf where all was dim, hazy, vast. Gazing 
down, Nophaie experienced a thrill of exultation. He would 
cross this canyon where few Nopahs had ever set foot. 

The ordeal consumed the rest of that day. Nophaie lost 
himself in absorption of declivity and descent, of sliding 
slope, of weathered rock and dusty wash, of the heat of 
cliff and glare of red, of vivid green cottonwoods and shining 
surging stream, of sheer looming colossal wall, and of the 
crawl upwards like a lizard. 

His reward was the rolling purple-saged, green-cedared 
plateau crowned by noble Nothsis Ahn. Crags of yellow, 
black belts of spruce, gleams of white snow—thus the 
Mountain of Light returned to Nophaie. It was the same. 
Only he had changed. How could wars of selfish men af- 
fect Nothsis Ahn? What was the trouble of Nophaie? As 
he gazed upward it flashed across him that there was really 
no trouble. But this idea seemed the calm, the strength, the 
soul of the mountain. 

The sun was far down in the west. Nophaie chose an 
open patch of sage, backed by cedars, and here he made camp, 
with Nothsis Ahn looking down upon him. 


Two days later Nophaie had crossed the uplands, traveled 
down under the north slope of the great mountain, down 
and down into the canyons. 

It was summer down there. Hot, fragrant air moved 
lazily in gentle winds. Green trees and grass and flowers 
and silver scale bordered the narrow red-walled lanes. In- 
dian paintbrush added its vermilion and magenta to the 
colorful scene. Down and down Nophaie rode, under the 
gleaming walls, through sunlight and shade, along and across 
the murmuring rock-strewn brooks, beside banks of amber 
moss and white lilies, and through thickets of green oak 
and cottonwood, down at last into the well-remembered and 
beloved place where he had lived so long in loneliness and 
solitude—his Canyon of Silent Walls. 


298 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Nophaie rested there that night and the next day. In this 
deep canyon where water and grass were abundant Nophaie’s 
horse profited by the stay. As for Nophaie, he strove vali- 
antly to make the idle hours those of an Indian contented 
with natural things. Still he felt the swelling in him of a 
great wave of emotion. Something was about to burst 
within him, like the breaking of a dam. Yet he knew that 
with every moment he grew farther away from and above 
any passion similar to that of Beeteia’s. A power of the 
working of which he was conscious, seemed to be gradually 
taking possession of his soul. 


Starting on his pilgrimage again at sunset, Nophaie rode 
all night, down Naza Boco, the canyon in the far depths of 
which hid the great Nopah god. 

That ride seemed a vigil. Daylight would have robbed 
it of some strange spiritual essence. “The shadows under the 
mounting walls now showed black and again silver. ‘The 
star-fired stream of blue sky above narrowed between the 
black rims, farther and higher as he rode down and down. 
into the silent bowels of the rock-ribbed earth. Every hour 
augmented the sense of something grand, all-sufficing, final, 
that awaited him at the end of his pilgrimage. 

Dawn came with an almost imperceptible change from — 
black to gray. Daylight followed slowly, reluctantly. It. 
showed Nophaie the stupendously lofty walls of Naza Boco. - 
Sunrise heralded its state by the red-gold crown on the rims. 
Gradually that gold crept down. 

Nophaie rode round a rugged corner of wall to be halted 
by a shock. 

Naza! ‘The stone bridge—god of the Nopahs arched” 
magnificently before him, gold against the deep-blue sky. He 
gazed spellbound for a long time, then rode on. At first it 
had seemed unreal. But grand as Naza towered there, it 
was only a red-stained, black-streaked, notched and cracked, 
seamed and scarred masterpiece of nature. Wind and rain, 
sand and water were the gods that had sculptured Naza. 








THE VANISHING AMERICAN 299 


But for Nophaie the fact that his education enabled him to 
understand the working of these elements did not mitigate in 
his sight their infinite power. 

He rode under the bridge, something that a Nopah had 
never done before him. ‘The great walls did not crumble; 
the stream of blue sky did not darken; Nothsis Ahn, show- 
ing his black-and-white crown far above the notch of the 
canyon, did not thunder at Nophaie for what would have 
been a sacrilege for a Nopah. Nothing happened. ‘The 
place was beautiful, lonely, silent, dry and fragrant, strangely 
grand. 

Leisurely Nophaie unsaddled and unpacked in the shade of 
a cedar. Already the canyon was hot. ‘The crystal amber 
water of the stream invited relief from thirst and heat. 

Nophaie spent the long austere day watching the bridge 
from different angles, waiting for what was to happen to 
him. 

Then came the slow setting of the sun, a strange thing 
here in the depths of the canyon. Nophaie watched the 
marvelous changing of colors, from the rainbow hues of 
the arch to the gold of the ramparts and the rosy glow on 
the snowy summit of Nothsis Ahn. ‘Twilight lingered 
longer than in any other place Nophaie remembered. It was 
an hour full of beauty, and of a significance of something 
evermore about to be. 

Darkness fell. “The low murmur of the stream seemed to 
emphasize the lonesomeness. At long intervals owls 
mourned their melancholy refrain. Naza stood up dark 
and triumphant, silhouetted against the sky, crowned with 
silver stars. Nophaie saw the Dipper turned upside down. 
By night the bridge gained something spectral and mysterious. 
Night augmented its grandeur. 

Nophaie did not sleep. He never closed his eyes. Every 
moment hastened what he now divined to be an illumination 
of his mind. 

Toward dawn a faint green light shone on the walls facing 
the south. “The moon was rising. After a while the gleam 


300 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


grew stronger. Soon the shadow of the bridge curved on 


the opposite wall, and under the arch shone a dim moonlight, 
' weird and beautiful. 

After twenty-four hours of vigil under this shrine Nophaie 
prayed. With all the passion of his extremity he recalled 


| 


the prayers of the Nopahs, and spoke them aloud, standing — 


erect, with face unlifted in the moonlight. His impulse had 
been mystic and uncontrollable. It came from the past, 
the dim memories of his childhood. It was the last dying 


flash of Indian mysticism and superstition. ‘The honesty and — 
yearning of it had no parallel in all the complex appeals of © 


the past. But it left him cold. Despair chained his soul. 
Then that strangely loosed its icy clutch. He was free. 
He realized it. 


Time ceased for Nophaie. Earth and life seemed to — 
stand still. Would there ever be another dawn? How — 
locked he was in the rock confines of the earth! At last he — 


found a seat against a huge fragment of cliff and from here 
he gazed with renewed eyes. What was the secret of Naza? 


The name was only Indian, handed down from those remote — 
progenitors of the Nopahs who came from the north. Was — 
there any secret? ‘The spirit abiding in that magnificent — 
bridge was an investiture from the soul of man. ‘The In- — 
dian mind was still struggling far back along the dim trails — 
of the progress of civilization. Blank wall of black on one 


side, wall of moonlit marble on the other, gleaming pale, 
sheered to the wan-blue, star-fretted sky; and across the 


opaque space arched the spectral rock rainbow, magnified in 


its night shadows. 


Nophaie saw it now as if blindness had fallen from his — 
eyes—saw it in all its nakedness and strength, its appalling — 
beauty, its terrific strangeness. But it had become a thing, . 
physical, inanimate, static. It needed the tremendous sheer — 
of walls to uphold that massive arch. Beauty upheld by — 
stark stone! Sublimity carved by the chisels of wind and — 





: 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN © 301 


water! Elemental toil of ages! A monument to the spirit 
of nature! But it could not endure. 

Naza! ‘The Nopah God! Bridge of sandstone! It was 
there. How grand the walls it joined! Those walls had 
been cut by the flowing of water, by the blowing of wind. 
Thousands of millions of tons of sand had eroded away—to 
leave Naza arched so magnificently there, as if imperishable. 
But it was not imperishable. It was doomed. It must fall 
or wear away. All that exceeding beauty of line and color, 
that vastness of bulk, must in time pass away in tiny grains 
of sand, flowing down the murmuring stream. 

Then to Nophaie came the secret of its great spell. 

Not all beauty or grandeur or mystery or immensity! 
These were only a part of its enchantment. For Nophaie 
it spelled freedom. Its isolation and loneliness and solitude 
meant for him the uttermost peace. “There dawned upon 
Nophaie the glory of nature. Just so long as he could stay 
there he would be free, all-satisfieed. Even sorrow was 
sweet. Memory of his white sweetheart was exalting. 

The world of man, race against race, the world of men 
and women, of strife and greed, of hate and lust, of injus- 
tice and sordidness, the materialism of the Great War and its 
horrible aftermath, the rush and fever and ferocity of the 
modern day with its jazz and license and drink and blind- 
ness—with its paganism,—these were not here in the grand 
shadow of Naza. No sharp wolfish faces of men limned 
against this silence! No beautiful painted faces of women! 
No picture of the Indian tribes, driven from the green pas- 
tures and running water of their forefathers, herded into 
the waste places of the earth! “The white man had not yet 
made Naza an object of his destructiveness. Nothing of the 
diseased in mind and body, the distorted images of mankind, 
the incomprehensible stupidity, the stony indifference to na- 
ture and beauty and ideals and good—nothing of these here 
in this moon-blanched canyon. 

For the period of its endurance Naza would stand there, 
under its gleaming silent walls, with its rainbow hues and 


302 «=THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


purple shadows at sunset, its golden glows and rosy veils at 
sunrise. “The solemn days would pass and the dreamful 
nights. Peace and silence would reign. Loveliness would 
vie with austerity. 

As the sun cleared away the shadows of night, so the spell 
of Naza clarified Nophaie’s mind of Indian superstition, of 
doubt and morbid fear. ‘The tragic fate of the vanishing 
American, as he had nursed it to his sore heart, ceased to 
exist. 

For Nophaie the still, sweet air of that canyon was 
charged. In this deserted, haunted hall of the earth, peace, 
faith, resurging life all came simply to him. ‘The intima- 
tion of immortality—the imminence of God! ‘That strife 
of soul, so long a struggle between the Indian superstitions 


of his youth and the white teachings forced upon him, ended — 


forever in his realization of the Universal God of Indian 
ness—with its paganism, these were not here in the grand 
and white man. 


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EEE Oe ee ee ee ee ee ee ee eS ee 


CHAPTER XXIII 


T Kaidab trading post Marian watched the desert 

horizon with troubled eyes. 

Nophaie had been absent for over two weeks. And de- 
velopments of the last few days and nights had somewhat 
disrupted the even tenor of Withers’s household. One night 
signal fires had suddenly blazed up on all the lofty points 
around Kaidab. Next day bands of Indians rode by, silent 
and grim, scarcely halting at the trading post. his latter 
fact was unprecedented. Even Mrs. Withers could not 
extract from any Indian what it was all about. But the 
trader said he did not need to be told. 

“There'll be trouble at Mesa,” he said, with fire in his 
eye. ‘‘Reckon I haven’t seen the Indians like this since they 
killed my brother, years ago.” 

In the afternoon he drove away in his car. 

That night more fires burned. Marian went with Mrs. 
Withers and others of the post to see the wonderful spectacle 
of signal fires on Echo Peaks. To Marian it seemed that 
the heavens were aflame. She, like Mrs. Withers, was silent, 
not joining in the loud acclaim and awe of their companions. 
The trader’s wife had lived her life among the Indians, and 
her face was an augury of calamity. 

Next day many Nopahs trooped by the post. Then with 
the advent of darkness the magnificent panorama of fires was 
repeated. By midnight they burned out. 

Marian lay sleepless in her dark little room. Some time 
late the hum of a motor car thrilled her. Withers was re- 
turning, and the fact of his return seemed propitious. But the 
automobile hummed on by the post, at a high rate of speed. 
That dismayed Marian. It had never happened before. 


393 


304 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


Kaidab was a stopping-place for every car, at any hour. 
Somehow this incident portended evil. Thereafter Marian 
slept fitfully and was harassed by fearful dreams. 

Next morning she was on the verge of despair. Castas- 
trophe had befallen Nophaie or he would have returned long 
ago. She connected his lengthy absence with this uprising of 
the Nopahs. Nevertheless, she scanned the desert horizon to 
the north, praying that she might see Nophaie ride into sight. 

Her attention, however, was attracted to the other direc- 
tion. The droning of another motor car roused Marian to 
eagerness. She ran from the porch to the gate. Dust clouds 
were traveling swiftly along the road toward the post. Then 
they disappeared. Marian watched the point where the 
road turned over the ridge. Soon an open car shot into 
sight. She thought she recognized it. ‘The driver appeared 
to neglect risk for the car or himself. Marian ran outside 
into the wide open space before the trading post. 

In a moment more she was confronted by a dust-begrimed 
Withers. 

“Howdy, Marian!’ he greeted her. ‘““Where’s everybody? 
I shore drove some. But bad news travels fast on the desert, 
an’ I wanted to beat it here.” 

“Bad—news?” faltered Marian. 

“Wal, I reckon,” he returned, darkly. “Come on in an’ 
find my wife.” 

‘“‘Nophaie!—Have you see him?” whispered Marian. 

“See here, lass, you’re white as a sheet. An’ you’re shakin’ 
too. Wal, no wonder. But you've got to stand up under 
the worst. . . . They’re bringin’ Nophaie in Presbrey’s car. 
He’s alive—an’ for all we could see he’s unhurt. But he’s 
in bad shape. Strange! ... Come, here’s the wife. She 
looks scared, too.” 

While Withers half led and half carried her into the liv- 
ing room Marian fought desperately to ward off the sick 
faint blackness that threatened to overcome her. Withers 
lowered her into a chair, and then stood erect to wipe his 
dusty face. 





NT —————— eee 


a ee ee eee a 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN — 305 


“Wal, wife, you’re ’most as pale round the gills as 
Marian,” he began. Then, having cleaned his face, he heaved 
a great breath of relief and flopped into a chair. “Listen. 
Beeteia’s uprisin’ flivvered worse then we'd have dared to 
hope for. Strange! Reckon it’s the strangest thing in all 
my desert experience. . . . When | got to Mesa there was a 
mob, a thousand Nopahs an’ Nokis hanging around pow- 
wowin’, waiting for Blucher an’ Morgan. Luckily they'd 
gone away—to fire some poor devil off the reservation, I 
heard. ‘The Indians thought they’d run away to Washing- 
ton, to get the soldiers. “They cooled off. Then old Indians 
harangued them on the foolishness of this uprisin’ business. 
Beeteia was hustled away to save him from arrest. So far so 
good!” 

Withers paused to catch his breath, perhaps to choose 
words less calculated to startle the staring women. 

“Last night we got word that Presbrey’s post was to be 
burned,” went on the trader. “I didn’t believe it because 
Presbrey stands well with the Indians. But it worried me. 
So I left Mesa an’ drove pronto for Presbrey’s. Was shore 
relieved when I saw his tradin’ post safe an’ sound. Presbrey 
met me, some excited for him. An’ he told me Blucher, 
Morgan, an’ Glendon had hid all night in his post an’ had 
just left, takin’ the old road over the ridge. Presbrey said a 
good many Indians had passed his post in three days. Yes- 
terday they petered out, an’ last night Blucher an’ Morgan 
came.” 

“T heard their car. I thought it was you returning,” 
spoke up Marian. 

“Wal, while Presbrey an’ me were talkin’ three Nopahs 
rode up,” continued Withers. “We figgered somethin’ was 
wrong, an’ finally got news that Shoie was at the mouth of 
the Nugi with a gang of Nopahs. They had been on their 
way to burn Presbrey’s post an’ were stopped by Nophaie. 
So tellin’ Presbrey to follow me I hit only the high places. 
At the Nugi I found Shoie with some two hundred Indians. 
Nophaie was there, lying under a cedar beside my horse he’d 


306 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


evidently ridden to death. Shoie was with him. First off — 


I thought Nophaie was dead. But he was alive, though ex- 


hausted almost to the last heartbeat. Shoie couldn’t talk. — 


The Indians were sullen. It took some time for me to piece 
together what this all meant. But I’m sure I got it figgered. 
Nophaie must have heard on the uplands that Shoie was bent 


on mischief. Wal, from the looks of my horse an’ Nophaie - 


I’d say there had been a wild ride. Anyway, Nophaie headed 
off Shoie, an’ at least stopped the burnin’ of Presbrey’s post. 
Doesn’t it have a strange look, when you think about Blucher 
an’ Morgan bein’ hid in that very tradin’ post at that very 
hour? Shoie would have burned them alive. Nophaie is the 
only man who could have stopped Shoie.”’ 

“’Then—Nophaie saved their lives—Morgan—Blucher— 
Glendon?” burst out the trader’s wife. 

“Wal, I reckon,” replied Withers, grimly. “It’s quite be- 
yond me. . . . Presbrey came along soon an’ we put Nophaie 
in his car, where there was more room. ‘They’ll be here 
presently.” 

Mute and stifled, racked by a convulsion rising in her 
breast, Marian fled to her room and locked the door and 
pulled down the shades. She wanted it dark. She longed 
to hide herself from even her own sight. 


Then in the gloom of the little adobe-walled room she suc- ~ 


cumbed to the fury of a woman once in her life reverting to 
primitive instincts. “Oh, I could kill them—with my bare 
hands!” she panted. She had not known such black depths 
existed in her. She was worse than a mother bereft of her 
child. Her mood was to destroy. But for the collapse 
swiftly following she might have done herself physical 
violence. 


When her mind cleared she found herself lying on the bed, — 


spent and disheveled. Slowly she realized what havoc had 
been wrought in her by passion. She was amazed at this 
hitherto unknown self, but she made no apologies and suf- 
fered no regrets. In a revulsion of feeling that ensued she 


crept off the bed to her knees, and thanked God. For she 





——e——ll ee 


THE VANISHING AMERICAN = 307 


divined that Nophaie’s great deed had been dominated by the 
spirit of Christ. Nophaie had always been a man, and one 
prompted to swift, heroic, generous acts, but this saving of 
the Mesa triumvirate from the vengeance of Gekin Yashi’s 
race, from a horrible death by fire, could mean only that 
Nophaie’s pilgrimage to Naza had saved his soul. She ab- 
solutely knew it. 

A knock on the door interrupted her devotions. 

“Marian, come,” called Mrs. Withers. ‘‘Nophaie is here.” 

Leaping to her feet, Marian stood a moment, trembling 
and absorbed. 

It took a few moments to smooth out hair and attire and 
erase somewhat the havoc of emotion from her face. Then 
she opened the door and stepped into the long hall. By the 
time she had traversed it and passed through the living room 
to the door she was outwardly composed. 

Through the green cottonwoods Marian espied a car in 
front of the gate, with an excited crowd around it. Mrs. 
Withers stood holding the gate open. Marian halted out- 
side the door. She saw moccasined feet and long limbs in- 
cased in yellow corduroy slowly slipping down out of the 
car. ‘Then she saw a silver-ornamented belt, and a garnet 
velveteen shirt. She recognized them. They were moving 
and her heart seemed to swell to bursting. Next Nophaie’s 
dark face and bare black head emerged from the car. Withers 
and another man helped him out. 

Marian’s devouring gaze flew over him. His tall lithe 
form, so instinct with grace and strength, seemed the same 
as always. Then she saw his face distinctly. “There shone 
upon it a kind of dark radiance. He smiled at her. And 
suddenly all her icy terror and numb agony vanished. She 
ran to meet him to halt the little procession. 

“Nophaie!”’ she said, tremulously. 

“All is well,” he replied. 

Everything that was humanly possible was done for 
Nophaie. But it was manifest that he was dying and that 


308 THE VANISHING AMERICAN 


the last flickering of his spirit had been held for this moment — 
with the white girl. . | 

She knelt beside him. 

“Nophaie—your pilgrimage was not—in vain,’ she as- 
serted, brokenly. “You found Ve 

“Your God and my God—Benow di cleash,” he whispered, 
a dark mystic adoration in the gaze he fixed on her. “Now 
all is well! . . . Now—all—is—well!” 





Some hours later Marian stood in the doorway watching 
the Indians ride away into the sunset. 

It was a magnificent, far-flung sunset, the whole west 
flaming with intense golden red that spread and paled far 
into the north. 

Against this glorious background the Indians were riding — 
away, in dense groups, in long straggling lines, in small - 
parties, down to couples. It was an austere and sad pageant. ~ 
The broken Indians and the weary mustangs passed slowly 


out upon the desert. Shoie, the tongueless, was the last to— 
depart. It appeared that he turned with gleaming visage and 


gesture of denunciation. Far to the fore the dark forms, | 
silhouetted against the pure gold of the horizon, began to 
vanish, as if indeed they had ridden into that beautiful 
prophetic sky. ! 


: 
| 
: 
: 
| 
| 
: 
| 
: 
: 


“Tt is—symbolic—” said Marian. ‘““They are vanishing— 
vanishing. Oh! Nopahs! ... Only a question of swiftly” 
flying time! My Nophaie—the warrior—gone before them! — 
Sd) MLR S| WELL G | 

At last only one Indian was left on the darkening horizon 
—the solitary Shoie—bent in his saddle, a melancholy figure, © 
unreal and strange against that dying sunset—moving on, — 
diminishing, fading, vanishing—vanishing. 


. 
| 
) 
. 
‘ 


THE END 


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